Framing Harmony
by Elfwing-Angel
Summary: The two most destructive forces in the universe collide within Hogwarts- and the students are caught in the middle. What kind of mischeif can Harmony and Chaos really unleash? How will anyone stop it? Part one of a three part fic- also posted at FictionAl
1. Art for Art's Sake

**Framing Harmony**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter- JK Rowling does. I didn't write the quotes at the beginning of the chapters, these are accredited to their authors below the quote. This was written as a challenge fic, though the challenge bits took a rather large back seat to the new main plot. The plot belongs to me. Enjoy the fic!

**Chapter One**

**Art for Art's Sake**

"_Art is not a mirror to reflect the world, but a hammer to shape it."_

_- Vladimir Mayakovsky_

There is something about a painting that can never quite be described. Sure, you can smell the paint, or see the man in the background; you can feel where layer after layer has been applied and hear the empty comments of jealousy of talent. However, what cannot be described, and shows the only true talent of any artist, is life. Some say that art should imitate life; some life should imitate art, though the truth is that the entire world is an audience, an audience that is all together more interesting than the show. Where fate and chance, despair and hope, harmony and discord are the players, the actors play on oblivious to life and those their play manipulates. We sit and watch. We capture moments in art. We take a moment to reflect on the man in front of us who eats his corn from the centre out, or the woman who can't get comfortable no matter what she does. The art in life is constant. Life is a spectator sport. But what if the play became audience participation? What if fate wrote the symphony or hope danced the ballet. And what if harmony and discord could work the painting?

It was raining.

Not so very unusual for this time of year surely, but never the less a rather large blot on the landscape. The damp smell of the rain still seemed to overtake the smell of the fire, even with the windows covered by the draft-tapestries and pots of paint lying open around the room. Everything in the Gryffindor common room was a cacophony of reds and golds. Lucinda Pierce always believed colours made the world what they were, and here, where the walls were covered in rich, warm inviting colours, she saw her proof. She often wondered how her older brother Greg, a fellow artist, could stand living in the Ravenclaw common room, filled with blues and blacks, cold and harsh as frosted glass. She imagined it dismal and always solemn. With a sigh, she dipped her brush into the prepared paint, filling the bristles with as much of the shimmering emerald green as she dared. With the briefest of frowns, she lightly put brush to canvas, to where there would soon be the over-extravagant dress robes of one Draco Malfoy. Obvious by the look on his face, he didn't much approve of the company he was keeping. It had been a wedding, of one of the professors. All fifth year and above students were invited, given a week off and had exams cancelled; on condition they came as dressed up as they could. Professor Dumbledore himself had requested the painting, asking expressly that the work be completed by students alone.

He had also requested expressly that she improve somewhat Dumbledore's own dress robes, which he claimed were 'almost as haggard and old as he was'.

Lucy smiled as she put more green below Malfoy's chin, the look on his face becoming suddenly smug as he admired himself. Hermione Granger, dressed in a peacock blue Muggle ball-gown was looking less pleased with the situation that Malfoy. They'd all been forced into a traditional line-dance that ended with every girl having danced with every boy. Even some of the Professors had joined in. Lucy still wasn't sure whether any approved of this at all. Hermione, at this point, had been landed with Malfoy. Malfoy seemed to be doing it mainly out of pride and solidarity, his arm resting at Hermione's waist and across her front, hers the same to his. They stepped around each other, in a perfect example of how it should be done. It was as if they were trying to out-do each other, as if the very pride of their houses rested on the perfection of the thirty-second battle of steps. Their competition could still be felt in the room when Lucy herself had reached Malfoy some time later. Another line of green, and Hermione's painted form, disapproving of Malfoy's smugness, jolted him bodily back to the matter at hand. The dance began again, neither of the pair having fallen a step out of time.

Beside Malfoy were Crabbe and Goyle, dancing with a very disgusted looking pair of fifth years (sixth years by now, Lucy reminded herself). Lucy glanced over the photograph she was using as reference. Just beyond Hermione, Ginny Weasley danced with the Slytherin Quidditch Keeper. They would be cut off by this portion of the canvas, and be the edge of the next. The five boards stood side by side, each with an under-sketch of dancing couples. The sketches looked annoyed.

Lucy turned her head when she heard the portrait door swing open with a rough grinding noise. That had been Timothy McCallum's latest prank, applying a permanent rust charm on the portrait. Timothy was in Slytherin, as if it wasn't obvious, and was ready to rival the famous Fred and George Weasley in the level of pranks.

"Estonia!" said the unmistakable voice of Ron Weasley. "Of all places, I had to get Estonia!"

"Ron, for goodness sake, will you stop complaining! If you really didn't want to do this then why are you doing History of Magic?"

"Because Hermione, ­­_dear_, there is only one subject required for what I want to do."

"And that is?"

"Quidditch!" Lucy did her best to suppress a giggle, she was almost glad she never managed a boyfriend. Hermione and Ron had been going out for almost a year now, and they still never really seemed to get any closer than before. Well, as far as Lucy knew anyway. She didn't want to pry, of course, but she made a note to ask Dean next time he was helping on the painting.

Hermione joined her by the painting; hair wrapped in a tight bun and held here by a balding quill. "You're doing a pretty good job Lucy."

With a grateful blush, Lucy went back to work, still working on the satin lining of Malfoy's dress robes. She smudged two different tones carefully with a finger, blending them into a tolerable imitation of three-dimensional. The painting seemed to agree, as the lining began to move the moment her finger left the canvas.

"There is one thing that will make it better, you know."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, and that is?"

"Delete Malfoy." Ron laughed briefly at his own joke, since nobody else would. "Harry's outside with your brother, by the way. What they could be talking about I don't know. Probably comparing notes on..."

"Oh do shut up Ronald!" Ginny Weasley said from her corner by the fire. She liked that corner, loved curling up in the overstuffed chair reading some book or other. She also knew very well that Ron hated being called Ronald. Lucy returned once again to her painting. The green parts were almost done, and so now, all that was left were the parts she needed her brother for, the parts that no matter how hard she tried, she could never get to work. The architecture of Hogwarts' Great Hall always eluded her, but never Greg. She applied one last final addition to Hermione's dress, and the pair suddenly began the full and sweeping movement of the scene, perfectly in step with the photograph. If she had to say so herself, she'd caught the feeling of competition in the work incredibly well, right up to Draco's attempt to toss Hermione on to the next person, who, being outside the painting's edge, had been replaced by a return run to Draco. And so it went on.

Greg entered the common room, laughing heartily with Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. More often than not lately Harry had become The-Boy-Who-Was-As-A-Haemorrhoid. Lucy waved at them both, splashing a small amount of blue paint toward the doorway to the girl's dormitory.

"Hey, Lucy, watch where you're flinging that stuff."

Turning to her brother, Lucy flicked a little more paint in his direction.

"Well _that's_ mature." He wiped the paint from his eye with one quick movement.

"What? I watched where I flicked it!" Lucy wiped a little paint from her brother's nose absently with a finger. "So how goes life in Ravenclaw then?"

"Slightly odd actually," Greg said, helping himself to a seat nearby. A voice outside the portrait hall distracted him for a moment, and then he went back to his story. "You see, Padma Patil found something in her trunk- I don't have any clue what it is- but she went storming into the Boy's dorm, levitating some bag that smelled completely rank behind her. I left before it got heavy, but I have a feeling this isn't over yet."

Lucy began to tap her chin. It was a habit that had been destructive to her and yet she persisted. A scar on her chin displayed for the entire world a wand-tapping accident she had in first year. Professor Flitwick had given her a dormant want to tap, just to stop her blowing her nose off. The voice outside the portrait was getting louder and more insistent.

"Hey Lucy, you're doing it again," Greg said absently. He was used to this by now. She'd done it since the day she could pick anything up. Greg snatched the brush from her hand, and in his other hand his wand stood poised. "S_courgify_". The brush was instantly clean, and the familiar slimy feeling on her chin disappeared. Lucy could feel herself blush as she opened the portrait hole for whoever belonged to the screaming voice. A girl in a black and blue cloak wandered by, and Padma Patil pushed her way roughly past and up the stairs, calling her sister's name.

"Why are we being invaded by Ravenclaws?" Neville Longbottom asked as he ambled down the dorm stairs and to a desk in the corner.

Lucy joined Ginny by the fire. It was warm and comforting in the common room, and made her feel perfectly at home. Nothing could ever go wrong when she was there. With a sigh, she sunk down in her chair, trying desperately to see what Ginny was reading. A crash and a "bloody hell" hailed the presence of Ron's homework, now spread across the common room. From somewhere behind she heard a voice.

"Merlin, save me from stupid people!"

And still it rained.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat alone in the Slytherin common room, his homework discarded among a pile of magazines and a book he owned only out of interest. He was glad to be away from Crabbe and Goyle. He was glad to be rid of stupid people for a minute. Stupid people, in his opinion, were put on the earth simply to annoy him. He'd sent the others away on a whim. That was how stupid they were; they even allowed themselves to be told when they were tired. Having to think for three people was tiring. But they were his muscle; they were the only thing that stopped most people beating him to a pulp. Or worse, hexing him into one.

Now he simply savoured the silence. The tranquillity of a complete lack of sound. He savoured the chance to be able to read the book in his lap without ridicule. The book was by anyone's standards huge. It was old too. One of those books that made it obvious the author was on commission. It was by no means too long in his opinion, even after thirty-seven books and no indication that it would stop anytime soon. He was sure, however, that he was the only person to find the hero to be a complete and utter git. He was also sure that the book had plagiarized every piece of fiction ever to be produced in the Wizarding world, and he'd wager a bit of the Muggle one too. He was beyond every doubt that he wasn't the only one who could see that either. It seemed so obvious even Goyle could have seen it, and he was known, on occasion, to fail to notice that that tough stuff around a banana was its skin. He read on, turning the page, annoyed at the hero's obvious love interest without really wanting to be. Finishing the paragraph, he shook his head absently. "Honestly woman, couldn't you have just summoned it to you without going to get it!"

He kept reading, ignoring, for the time, the complete stupidity of the woman. He could of course guess what was going to happen. The villain would somehow capture this woman -again- and draw her into his power -again- and try his best to have his way with her -again. The plot was getting repetitive. The villain also reminded him somewhat of his father, the man he'd once aspired to be. Now he aspired only to be the best. And to rid the world of stupid people, but that was one of those dreams designed to make you feel better. He closed the book as soon as he'd finished the page, tossing it down on top of his unfinished homework. He walked slowly to the door of the boy's dormitory, not entirely sure whether he was ready for bed yet. Perhaps he'd just change into his pyjamas and come back for some more reading. Yes, that's what he'd do. He walked up the steps pointedly now, looking forward to his black and green satin boxers and robe. He never wore full pyjamas, never could stand the restriction. He'd sleep naked, if it weren't likely to give Crabbe and Goyle reason to as well. The thought made him shudder.

"Hello." A voice came from behind him. He rolled his eyes, just what he needed, yet another first year girl who couldn't sleep in the dank dungeon. He didn't bother turning around.

"There's water in the jug by the fireplace. There are spare blankets in the cupboards in your dormitory and no, there is no chance of a nightlight, now go to bed."

The voice persisted, "I don't need any of that."

"What do you need then, someone to tuck you in? Well I'm sorry but not only is it beneath me but your dormitory corridor is booby trapped so anyone of the male persuasion can't get within three feet of it without resembling a Yorkshire pudding." Draco continued up the stairs, trying to make a point of ignoring the person behind him. The voice had a strange accent to it, one he'd never heard before. It persisted.

"Well there's no need to be like that, I only wanted to talk to you. You seem like the kind of person I could get to like." The voice, now so blatantly obvious that it was not going to leave until he turned around, seemed like the kind of voice he imagined the hero's bitch in his book to have.

"Not at midnight, I don't even know you."

"Well you could at least ask my name, Draco."

"Ok then I'll play, what is your..." Draco had turned around to face the insolent little girl and threaten her with bodily harm if she didn't leave him alone. The only problem was there was no one there. "...Name?"

"I'm over here, silly."

Draco turned to where the voice was this time, nothing again. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He'd fallen asleep, he must have.

"Well if you aren't going to ask, then I'll just go. Good bye, Malfoy, see you tomorrow."

Draco turned again to where the voice had shifted. "How in hell do you know my name?" It wasn't until he'd asked that he thought it was a stupid question. Everybody knew who he was, he'd seen to that at the welcoming feast the week before. He shook his head and headed upstairs, now determined to go to bed.

"_Accio_ junk." He decided it was a bad idea when everything can flying at him that wasn't part of the furniture.

He was suddenly glad of the lack of windows.

* * *

Ginny Weasley curled up tighter into the ball she'd formed of herself, the book she'd been reading fallen to the floor hours ago. She'd told herself that she'd wait up for the others. That plan had failed dismally. She couldn't quite remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it had to have been some time ago. She opened her eyes and drank in the morning light in which she was bathed. Morning? How could she have slept upright until morning? She told herself it didn't really matter, and stretched. She heard the characteristic cracks in her spine rather than felt them. Ginny rubbed her eyes, the day before had been Sunday.

"Damn. I live at school and still I hate Mondays." Ginny gave her back one last twist and retrieved her book from the floor. She'd been tempted on more than one occasion to take it to breakfast with her. Only one thing ever really stopped her, and that was that she had to put up with the snide remarks of the Slytherins. She was sure they were all jealous, none of them could probably read, and those that could would have no chance of getting through this. Not with thirty-seven volumes and no chance of it ending anytime soon. She yawned as she closed the book and held it instinctively to her chest before heading for the girl's dormitory.

"Morning, Gin."

Ginny jumped despite herself. Hermione stood on the stairs in her dressing gown, yawning, with her hair in such a frizz it made Crookshanks look positively bald. Crookshanks wound his way through their legs methodically. Ginny could feel the cat's fluffy tail tickle her ankle. She could also smell some odd combination of about seven different smells coming from the both of them.

"Morning, Hermione. How are you?" Ginny rubbed her eyes and shook the sleep from her head. She nudged Crookshanks away.

"Not bad. Lavender and Parvati are attacking each other with perfume. I really had to get out of there." Hermione fluffed her robe; wafting more of the mixture of smells Ginny's way. She held the book she carried to her nose in an attempt to deflect the smell.

"What are you reading?"

Ginny pulled the book down immediately. "Nothing."

"Oh don't be silly. I'll find out from Harry anyway, what is it?"

"Why would Harry know?" Ginny felt the blush in her cheeks rise, burning and threatening to burst out of her face.

Hermione did the most deliberate hip movement any human being could make without folding completely over. "Ginny, it's obvious, you two are as close as anybody could get. Plus, Harry told me you were going out."

Ginny was certain her cheeks had just caught fire. "Does that mean Ron knows?"

"Are you kidding? Ron's thick, you know that. Don't get me wrong, I love him, but sometimes I think he keeps his brain where his bottom should be."

Both girls giggled, Hermione pulling her unruly hair from her face. They both headed toward the centre of the common room. Ginny had given up on going up stairs. The couches did look inviting, even if the House Elves had left robes lying around (perhaps assuming they were Ginny's, or left lying around to free them). The room still smelled like paint, and there was even a patch of it smudged into the carpet. _Ah, the House Elves were never even here_. Ginny opened her mouth to speak her concerns to Hermione, but thought better of it. The memory of S.P.E.W still fresh in her mind. _Dobby probably just didn't want to disturb me_. Somehow, this thought wasn't reassuring.

"Lucy and her brother finished the first part of the painting. You were asleep when Greg left," Hermione said, yawning. She sounded as if this information was an obligation, and had no desire to inform anyone that she was, for the time, perpetually dancing with Draco Malfoy.

Ginny turned to the painting. She had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing the whole thing finished. Dean Thomas had even volunteered to help finish it off with the pair of artists. He did hold claim to being the equal best painter of people Ginny knew. Dean and Lucy were a pair who proved without a doubt that men made the best painters of men and women the best of women. There was no mistaking it in these works either. Lucy's rendition of Hermione and the pair of now sixth-years behind her were perfect, and yet there was something about Draco and his cronies that just didn't look right. That was until Dean got at it. Somehow, the faces looked more _right_ when he got hold of them, and Ginny couldn't explain how. But that didn't much matter now. The painting was beautiful as it stood. Even with Draco permanently stuck in the centre for the time. There was such detail that Ginny could identify everyone down that side of the circle, even with the perspective shrink and movement. She always wondered how artists did that. A figure, beautiful in her own right, wandered through the work, through the under sketches and into the painting, fully complete and painted. Something wasn't right there; sketches couldn't leave their pictures, let alone actually paint themselves when they got to the next one.

"Who's she?" Ginny asked Hermione, pointing to the figure, which had now stopped and watched Draco and Hermione dance as if they were some kind of display. She had her face half obscured by the black velvet cloak she wore. The midnight blue satin lining peeking through from beneath the hood.

Hermione tilted her head. "I don't know, I don't remember her. Do you think she's from one of the other paintings around the school?"

"I doubt it, we'd have seen her."

"Maybe we're imagining things."

"Well she's obviously there."

"Then maybe we didn't get enough sleep. Now I'm going to get dressed. See you at breakfast." Hermione took one last look at the picture. Ginny could see she was confused. She continued upstairs, leaving Ginny contemplating the painting. The girl looked up and straight at her. Her eyes were a colour Ginny had no chance of describing, and her hair was the kind of red that any red-haired girl wished hers had grown out like. Everything in her face seemed to come together to create something so very unnerving in its harmony. She wasn't incredibly pretty, just well matched. They stared at each other for a moment, each seeming to contemplate each other coldly. The girl in the painting raised her finger to her lips for Ginny to be quiet. Ginny closed her mouth, she hadn't even realized she'd let it open. She watched the girl take hold of Hermione's hand, the one that was not on Draco's waist, and spread the fingers, like she was dropping something.

"WHAT IN BLAZERS ARE THESE DOING IN HERE!" Ginny heard a cry from the girl's dormitory, and turned to look at the source. The voice had been so unmistakably Hermione's that Ginny almost put it down to it being something of Lavender or Parvati's, or that thing Padma had been levitating. There were voices mumbling, yelling, screaming and swearing in every language Ginny knew existed. Ginny started to hurry upstairs, having heard the voice of one of her roommates. She took a final look at the painting, her mouth working in words that never came out.

The figure was gone.

* * *

Hermione was fuming. Very few had seen her so angry, only one of them had she been that angry at. It was his time again. She marched into the Great Hall, an army of girls close behind her, each looking angrier than the next. There had to be around ten of them, all the sixth and seventh years. They hadn't told the boys what was wrong, this wasn't their battle. They'd just cause a scene. The girls were ready to defend themselves, ready to create a scene of their own. There was no such thing as the weaker sex in magic. There was no hope for those they aimed for. There was no chance they'd survive this with their dignity in tact. Hermione was determined, she squeezed her fist around the collection of satin, cotton and silk she carried toward the Slytherin table, her wand gripped firmly in the other hand. This went way beyond telling the teachers so they'd lose points; this went way beyond petty revenge. This...was...war...

* * *

Draco was about ready to kill someone. It was really beyond him to show this much anger, but he didn't care. They'd gone too far. He stood sharply from the table, a group of boys backing him up, each bulkier than the next. There had to be around ten of them, all the sixth and seventh years. They hadn't told the girls what had happened, this wasn't their battle. They'd just cry and accuse them of cheating. The boys weren't ready for a catfight, not without mud and white t-shirts at any rate. There was no such thing as chivalry in magic. There was no hope for those they aimed for. There was no chance they'd survive this with their looks in tact. Draco was determined, he screwed the wad of lace, satin and curved wire he carried along the Slytherin table, his wand gripped firmly in amongst the turmoil. This went way beyond insult and class pranks; this went way beyond petty revenge. This...was...war...

* * *

"What's the meaning of this Malfoy?" Hermione yelled, shaking the fist full of fabric at him. She hadn't even bothered getting dressed. Not that she could in the situation.

"I don't know, Mudblood, perhaps one of your beloved house-rats decided you'd look better in black!" Malfoy hadn't dressed either. His black satin robe was tied loosely around his waist, though his chest was slightly visible. "At least then it would explain why they did no CLEANING!"

"Oh, and I suppose they're laughing so hard at your little joke they forgot to put breakfast out as well!" Hermione threw the bundle to the table, landing some in the empty milk jug and some in a third-year's empty bowl. "Do you think this is FUNNY, Malfoy? Did you think it was somehow amusing to dump your... HEY! THAT'S MINE!"

Draco swung the object in his hand. "Ah, which explains why it's so small."

The entire hall had stopped to watch the coming carnage. There wasn't one person in the hall that couldn't see the pink lacy bra dangling from Malfoy's outstretched arm.

"Try it on for size did you?"

"No, pink isn't my colour."

"I'd say it suits you perfectly." Ginny Weasley threw the pile she was carrying amongst the pile Hermione had deposited, and one by one the Gryffindor Women's League threw theirs with them, finishing with a rather ratty pair of y-fronts.

"Malfoy, I have to credit your creativity. Stealing underwear and trading it with your own is so _funny,_" Lavender Brown said, the sarcasm in her voice possessing her body into sudden bouncy, limp over-action.

"Yes, incredibly amusing, however there is generally a rule when pulling stupid stunts like that," Parvati Patil added, not even bothering with the sarcasm and opting rather for steaming fury, "you make sure one of your mook's _mummies_ didn't put their names on little tags on their knickers, right, _Vinnie_?"

Malfoy turned suddenly to Crabbe. "Your mother _what_?"

Crabbe blushed and shuffled back. Malfoy turned his attention to Hermione, disgusted. "What about your lot, Mudblood?" Malfoy wasn't willing to admit he had no clue what the others' names were. "Did you think it prudent to leave your underwear lying around? We may get the wrong idea you know. Goyle has needed to get laid for a long time, you got his hopes up."

"Don't make me sick. Now... give... me... Back... My... UNDERWEAR!"

Malfoy made a noise that closely resembled a spitting camel.

"Mr. Malfoy." The thick Scottish accent of Professor McGonagall stopped his snort dead. "Please return those under-things to their owners. I will see you all in detention. And just for good measure one point from Slytherin for every item of lingerie..."

"What about them!"

"...in this room! Now with ten students per year, seven years worth of students, four houses, the staff, any that came into the room with you, that should be about a thousand points each should it not?"

"But professor..."

"No buts! I will limit the point loss to fifty points each, and you will serve three weeks in detention, each. And as for you girls, as much as I dislike it, fifty points each from Gryffindor, and one week detention."

"Only one!"

McGonagall still managed to look like nothing worse was said than, 'butter on your toast?' "They are not the ones back-chatting, Mr. Malfoy, nor did they choose to make derogatory remarks of a personal nature."

Malfoy took the opportunity to practice being silently angry. Hermione took the opportunity to snatch back her underwear and head off to dress. The others followed like a regimental victory march.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley turned to Harry Potter. "Has everybody gone mental? What was all that about?"

Harry stared at where the toast should be. "I don't know, but whatever it was, Malfoy looks hacked off. What has happened to breakfast?"

Harry stabbed at his empty plate with his fork. Confused mumbles resounded all over the hall. Dumbledore was trying to call for silence, though Harry wasn't sure if he'd be heard over the rumbling of their stomachs. He threw his fork at the table. Behind him, groups of Ravenclaws were complaining very loudly.

"That's it! If I _ever_ see that bloody Gryffindor who invented spew, I swear I'll hex the daft bint into next week!"

Harry waited for Ron's reaction. Nothing came.

"Ron, aren't you going to defend Hermione? She is your girlfriend."

Ron leaned over the table, removing himself from between Seamus and Dean. "Harry, look around. There's no food, our robes haven't been washed. I'd defend Hermione in a second Mate. Problem is I'm thinking the exact same thing."


	2. Something Wicked

**Framing Harmony**

Disclaimer: All characters, settings and worldbuilding belong to JK Rowling, with exceptions for the original characters. Plot belongs to me. Written as a challenge.

**Chapter Two**

**Something Wicked**

"_A Professor is someone who talks in someone else's sleep."_

_W.H Auden_

Draco Malfoy stormed down the corridor, hungry, cold and carrying his underwear, followed at an increasing distance by Crabbe and Goyle. This would be a sweet revenge. The Mudblood would pay. She would pay in a way that she could imagine only in her nightmares. Draco walked faster, heading for the dungeons so that he could dress before double Potions. Snape was always ready to be lenient towards Slytherins, Draco especially, but going to class in his underwear may be able to tip the scales in the Gryffindors' favor for the first time in more years than he probably knew. His march continued, getting more heated the further he went. He shook out a pair of boxers from the middle of the pile and gave them a brief sniff.

"Damn those house-elves! No washing done, the halls are a mess. I bet that Granger is behind this."

Crabbe grunted in reply. He never said much, and Draco was glad. He wasn't so sure how much mindless drivel he could have been able to stand at that point. Draco continued on his rant.

"She will pay, mark my words! I refuse to wear dirty clothes!"

Goyle cleared his throat nervously. "Um, we could wash them."

Draco stopped. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure he was breathing. Had he heard correctly? "What did you say?"

"We..." Goyle swallowed, turning a lucid shade of pink. "We could wash them."

Draco managed to avoid stumbling. He had heard correctly, he wished he hadn't. Sometimes, Goyle deserved to be in Hufflepuff. "This, Goyle, is why I'm the brains of this outfit. We don't wash our own clothes. That is what servants are paid for."

Goyle submitted and sunk back, hugging his pajamas to himself tightly. Draco had lost the closing cord on his robes. He didn't care; let the girls of Hogwarts feint at his glory and fall at his feet for a simple word from this glorious hunk of man-meat.

One of those girls approached now. She was a Ravenclaw, and one Draco didn't recognize. Now if he thought the lack of recognition unusual, then he only did it out of shock at her sudden fit of giggles, and not at all out of wonder at the fact that he would not know her from Timothy McCallum in drag.

"Somebody's sure of himself," She giggled. Her accent was grating, and seemed not to make up its mind what country it wanted to be from. Draco sneered, the sneer he'd practiced on Harry Potter for seven years and felt he'd finally perfected. He looked down at himself briefly. His boxers were black satin, with a green dragon flying around them, back to front. Trailing the dragon the words "Exit the Dragon" were emblazoned in little gold and red flames. He returned his gaze to the girl.

"As sure as anyone could be, with the truth."

The girl burst out laughing. Her hair swished around haphazardly. It was both blue-black and red-black at the same time. It was roughly layered, as if it were cut by someone with a sword in the middle of a Quidditch match. The oddest thing was though, despite how thrown together she looked it suited her.

She continued past them, ignoring his statement. She walked straight but she had no right to, not with the way her legs moved. As she brushed past Draco his head suddenly span with everything and nothing all at once. "You still haven't asked my name, Malfoy."

"You!" he said, spinning around fast enough that his robe twisted around his body. Crabbe and Goyle parted, allowing him to look straight at her. "You were the one in the common room!"

She gave a little round of applause, swiveling at the waist, but didn't stop walking. It looked awkward. "Congratulations, Draco Malfoy. You get a gold star!" She kissed her hand and blew. With a giggle, she turned again, walking slowly. "It's Selena, by the way."

Selena disappeared around a corner, leaving Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy standing alone, in their pajamas, waiting for something to happen.

"I heard that voice last night."

"Do you wants us to, uh, find out about her, Draco?"

"Yeah, like you got us to do with that other girl you fancied?"

Draco did not have the patience to look disgusted. He was too confused. "Goyle, the only thing duller than your wit is History of Magic. I don't fancy her. She broke into the common room last night."

"Do you think she did the underwear thing?"

"Don't be stupid, Crabbe! Ravenclaws aren't that devious. No, I still say that was Granger and her lot. But she was doing something in there and I want to know what." Draco picked up his pace, not noticing the trail of small shiny gold stars he was leaving in his wake.

"I'm starving!"

"We know, Ron."

"My stomach won't stop growling!"

"We know, Ron."

"I'm gonna die if I don't eat soon!"

"Please do, Ron."

"Malfoy is a complete and utter, insolent son of a b..."

"We know Hermione."

"How dare he do such a thing to me!"

"We know, Hermione."

"And you aren't much better, Ronald Weasley!"

"We kno...hey! What did I do?"

The small group of Gryffindors that had gathered around the door of the Potions dungeons- early to avoid any point loss- moved a little out of the way. Lover's tiffs were rare in their house (lovers were rare in their house, actually) and always entertaining.

**"Why didn't you thump Malfoy? You're meant to be my boyfriend. That means when another guy is flashing my knickers around you DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"**

Ron cowered behind Harry's shoulder. Harry tried to shake the frightened redhead off him. Harry seemed rather dumbfounded. Ginny had been in that group in the morning too. He was in serious trouble.

"I hope you're proud! The entire school saw my knickers and you didn't lift a finger!" Hermione shook her head, groaning with anger like a freshly poked bull, "MALFOY got to touch my knickers!"

**"He WHAT? When did this happen!"**

Hermione did the deliberate hip movement she developed when she was talking to someone like they were stupid. "Oh, last night, Ronald. Of course, I'm glad the walls are soundproof, that guy can really make you SCREAM!"

"I'll kill him!"

"Ah, Ron, she was being sarcastic."

There was a brief pause. "Um, I knew that."

"This morning, Draco Malfoy and a group of Slytherins arrived with ten girls' underwear. Not only that but they had managed to sneak their own into our room." Parvati seemed unusually calm for the circumstances. Every now and then, she'd close her eyes and take a breath, but seemed normal otherwise. "Unfortunately for them, we had the presence of mind to sabotage their underclothes before they had much of a chance to do anything about it."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. "We managed a charm that will make all this awful business worth it, just for the sake of seeing the Slytherins humiliated."

Hermione and the two girls that were also in their little group looked down the corridor toward the Slytherin dungeons. Harry followed their gaze. It was now apparent why Lavender was trying not to laugh. Pansy Parkinson looked as if you could boil water by putting the kettle against her cheek. Behind her, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy were walking as if a broomstick were wedged where nature intended an exit only. Behind them, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have found a less than dignified way to temporarily solve the problem.

"Very mature, Granger. A permanent shrinking charm, very first-year of you." Draco winced, and was obviously at war with himself to dislodge the problem in much the same way as Crabbe and Goyle were.

"Fifth, actually, it was the fifth-years' idea. We only performed it."

"Why didn't we think of something like that?" Blaise half whispered. He'd lost his battle with the urge to pick and was trying to hide the fact behind Pansy.

"Because, Blaise, dear, that would mean you would be capable of _thought_! How _dare_ you presume that you can just take a woman's under things, willy-nilly!" What was this? Pansy, showing some common decency? "And they're Gryffindors for Merlin's sake! Do we even know if they _wash_ them?" So the sentiment was short-lived. Harry could only hope there was one redeemable soul in Slytherin. _Soul? Slytherin? What was I thinking!_

"But Pansy, I..."

"Don't 'but Pansy' me, Zabini, I've had enough of you! I swear if you come near me _ever again_ I'll use a shrinking charm on more than your boxers. Not that anywhere else _needs one_." Unlike Gryffindor, Slytherin was never short of Lovers' tiffs. Though from what Harry had heard, in Slytherin a 'tiff' was considered foreplay. Lovers' Hindenburg-with-a-bit-of-the-Trojan-War-thrown-in-for-good-measure would be more accurate, but it was easy to underestimate such things. The chorus of 'oooooh' from both the Slytherins and Gryffindors echoed through the hall for a second in anticipation of Blaise's reaction. He gave none.

"I can't believe I dumped Draco for you!" Pansy seemed actually on the verge of crying. This was an emotion other than extreme hate. Harry almost felt remorse for her. Almost...

"Pansy, please, listen, I didn't do it! It was that Brown girl, she left them in there!"

Many reactions seemed to burst out all at once.

"I never...!" Lavender cried.

"How in heck did you know they were hers?" Seamus asked (He and Lavender had been an item once).

"So, does she wear black knickers?" Ron said.

Hermione slapped Ron, hard. Pansy burst into tears, "CHEATING BASTARD!"

Hermione edged unsurely towards her. Pansy was the only female of the Slytherins who had arrived so far, and though the Gryffindor numbers grew, the Slytherins seemed to have stopped coming. Hermione patted Pansy on the back, as if she was a sick-looking dog that had just wandered up. Pansy just sobbed. Blaise was walking in little circles, obviously trying to stop himself crying as well. Hermione rested her hand on Pansy's back, deciding it was slightly more comforting yet highly less friendly than actually moving. She raised her head to see Draco and his goons looking highly disgusted (though also rather uncomfortable), and the Gryffindors looking highly surprised. Hermione frowned. "What, you expect me to just leave her? Fall to their level? Come on, I thought Gryffindors were meant to have... do you smell that?"

"Gryffindors are supposed to have... a bouquet like Sprout's fertilizer bin? Well, Granger, I must say I agree with you on that one," Draco said, finally losing the will-versus-wedgie war.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I smell it too, it's coming from..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for announcing the smell! Five from Slytherin for describing it! And it will be fifty points from anyone who comments on the smell of my hair, all right. Now get into class. And take your hands out of your rear-ends boys, there are places for such things." Snape had not taken a breath through his entire speech, and had managed to end it just as his reached the podium he lectured from.

Ron leaned in to Harry. "It's weird how he manages that timing every time, eh Harry?"

"Uncanny." Harry shuffled into the room behind Ron, Hermione and Pansy (who, in her need for a shoulder to cry on, had opted to follow Hermione. Something was seriously wrong here). Snape gave a quick wave of his wand and a sheet of parchment appeared in front of each student.

"Now, look at this summary and tell me what it is describing. Any silly comments and it will be fifty points from all of you." Snape scratched his head vigorously. He seemed far more on edge than normal. "And where are the rest of the Slytherins?"

Harry made a point of reading his book thoroughly, but could not help but add, "Wardrobe malfunction" to the punctuated silence. The Gryffindors giggled.

"As reluctant as I am to agree with him, he's right, Professor," Blaise said, his voice was quavering and the rest of him shifting uncomfortably. "You see the house-elves haven't..."

"I'm fully aware of the lack of house-elves, Zabini." Snape snapped, not shifting his attention away from his hair. "That is no excuse. Five points from anyone absent. Blast it, what is this _damned smell_!"

There was a long silence. Snape scratched relentlessly, and every now and then Pansy would wail a little bit. Harry looked to every face in the room whenever he turned a page. Blaise looked awful, Harry felt so sorry for the guy he was worrying for his sanity. Malfoy's eyes were watering, and he gripped the side of the desk in pain. Crabbe and Goyle were shifting uncomfortably. Snape was flipping through piles of books, and Hermione had just shot her hand in the air so fast she'd taken a few strands of Pansy's hair with it.

"Yes Miss Granger."

"Professor." Hermione bit her lip and looked rather uncomfortable. "I-I can't be sure, but what this is describing sounds like a combination of used kitty litter and cat fleas."

Professor Snape stood perfectly still, staring at Hermione. In the back of his head, Harry could hear a voice yelling "One hundred points from Gryffindor!" He knew deep down she should have kept her mouth shut. Snape continued to stare, absently scratching his head.

Snape looked down at his fingernails, and spoke, "One hundred points... to Gryffindor."

Harry almost fell off his chair. Did he hear correctly? He had to have because all around the room Gryffindors were muttering. Pansy gave a loud squeal and buried her head in her hands. Draco had finally given in to the urge to scream, but managed very little actual noise. The room had decided something was wrong. Harry decided to investigate the loss of Professor Snape, and fought the urge to grab his wand and try a quick "_riddikulus_". Harry waited in silence for someone to say something that could be considered a comment.

"Another one hundred points to whoever can tell me a way of counteracting such a spell."

Again Hermione's hand shot up, this time poking Pansy in the ear on the way up. Pansy gave a brief yet loud wail and whacked Hermione on the arm. Snape didn't even look at anyone else. "Yes, Miss Granger."

Hermione gave quick glances to the other two people who had their hands up. Dean shrugged and Blaise seemed to be relieved at having his hand back to where it was needed most. Hermione answered reluctantly, "I have some cat shampoo my parents bought me for my cat, Crookshanks, Professor. It's scented, and kills fleas. There is also flea powder and flea drops, if you need them."

Even Malfoy giggled. Harry seemed to be able to avoid hysterics simply by remembering that, if Crookshanks had fleas, it was likely that every other animal in Gryffindor tower did, too. Suddenly his arm itched.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but I would prefer such things for human use." Nobody else seemed to want to give an answer, as if, as always, Hermione was about to say exactly what they were. Snape held on to the silence with a death grip.

"Perhaps, Professor, you could adapt the cat products to produce a human equivalent. You do teach potions, after all." Harry was surprised at himself, though it did make sense to him. Harry held up his wand in what was the direction of Gryffindor tower and spoke in a loud, clear voice, "_Accio_ Hermione's Cat-Care bundle."

A brief moment passed. Harry pushed his wand back into the sleeve of his robe and waited. Hermione walked pointedly toward a window and waited in a stance reminiscent of the cricketers Harry had watched with Uncle Vernon. A loud whoosh heralded the sudden appearance of a wicker-basket full of various cat products. Hermione caught it expertly. _She'd make a fair keeper,_ Harry thought. For some reason his thoughts about Quidditch were always in Oliver Wood's distinctive accent. Harry shook the thought from his head and turned back to the professor, who was carefully studying the ingredients in flea powder. The ingredients seemed to perplex the Potions master. _Ha! The man is human after all!_

"Class dismissed." Snape waved a hand, not looking up from his canister. It was a full half-hour early. Something was severely wrong here, and Harry definitely liked it.

"'Teacher versus Student Quidditch match, Saturday,'" Ron read -for the thousandth time, Hermione thought- from the notice that had appeared on the Gryffindor notice board. "'All teams to meet Wednesday night to choose the student-body representatives.' Well that'll be you, Harry, for sure. And though I hate to admit it, Crabbe and Goyle will probably be the beaters."

"Lisa Craven will be keeper for sure!" Seamus piped in. He was notoriously enamored with Lisa, the Hufflepuff keeper. "And probably Brent McCallum, Greg Pierce, and Ginny for the chasers, do you think?"

Harry pulled his gloves down over his hands and picked up his Firebolt. "Well, we'll find out soon enough, wont we?" He headed for the portrait hole, the rest of the team following close behind. Ron beckoned Hermione to follow. Hermione reluctantly followed, carrying her book with her. She had to admit, she was rather curious about which teachers would be playing. She carried her copy of _'Hopeless at Hexes: Squibs in the Muggle Community'_ and the roll of parchment for her homework with her.

The brisk walk to the Quidditch pitch was one Hermione knew well. She was almost certain that she'd worn her own set of footprint-shaped stepping stones into the ground along the path, slowly getting bigger as her feet did. The tryouts were at night, which was unusual, and she sent rushing through her mind the many ways the pitch may have been lit.

She got her answer.

Hundreds of tiny lights flew randomly above the pitch, high above the stands. Hermione could not tell what the things were, or how they seemed to not be entirely there at all. The pitch was blanketed in a pleasant soft light that would be perfect for a nighttime stroll. She made a mental note to ask what they were in the next Care of Magical Creatures class. She headed up the stands with the other spectators, giving Ron a brief hug for luck. Ahead of her, Lavender complained about having only one set of clean robes left. Parvati claimed that she would go to class naked before she went in dirty robes. Hermione shook her head. She still had a back up plan. She had owled her parents for detergent and managed to claim one of the Gryffindor bathtubs. Harry was willing to help her, and so was Ginny.! This was a money making venture even the Goblins would be proud of. Hermione took a seat next to a Ravenclaw girl, mostly obscured by a black and blue cloak. Hermione lent over and asked, "Have the teachers been chosen yet, do you know?"

The girl turned slowly to face her. Hermione suddenly felt a twang of recognition. Had that been the girl from the painting? It was possible, of course, she may have been a student in a lower year than Hermione, there was no way she could remember all of them, but there was something peculiar about her.

"No, I do not." The girl's voice had no undertone, or overtone, just one flat tone that couldn't be described as anything but droning.

"I'm sorry, but have we met before?" Hermione asked, frowning.

The girl stood up. "No, and yes. Some call me Laura, and you... you will be my savior."

Hermione didn't know how to react. How does one react to such a thing? It was the creepiest thing she had ever heard. Hermione was distracted by the Ravenclaw seeker flying low over her head, chasing a little metallic blue thing Hermione could only think was her allocated Snitch. Once she'd turned back to where Laura had been seated, there was nothing, not even a hair. Hermione felt the wind tear her hear from one side of her head to the other. There was no way someone couldn't have even left a _hair_ in this wind. This warranted investigation. Hermione opened her book, but couldn't think of what was on the paper.

"Harry Potter is to be the student body seeker!"

Somehow, Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the Gryffindor red snitch buzzing around her head, a confused Hufflepuff eyeing it off ahead of her.

A boy dressed in all yellow followed a teacher carrying a whistle and a broom through the corridors, complaining loudly, "He cheated! I swear, he caught our snitch! Even Hermione Granger saw it; the Gryffindor snitch was still flying! I swear!" Laura made her way through the shadows up the stairs. They moved only if she willed it, and only when she was ready to mount them. The fake step gave her no trouble, seeming to solidify beneath her feet. Laura wandered past the familiar paintings, each nodding to her in turn. She moved on quickly, they would be back soon. She could not revert until she reached the place she began in, at least not willfully. Laura found the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was waiting patiently for 'her children' to return. Not many people knew that she thought of them that way, but she did, and she was devoted to her job as protector.

"Hello there."

"Hello, Lady, I guess you'll want the password?"

"Yes."

"_Amorum Terminus."_ An odd password, Laura thought. "Love's end". Very odd indeed. As she stepped through the hole, she vowed to herself that if she could help it, that would not be so.

There it stood. The painting she was brought to this form in. The newly worked paintings were always the easiest to enter, if only for their subjects' receptiveness to the new. She had never stopped to admire its aesthetic value, nor would she now. She was on a mission. Laura closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could. She felt her solid form melt and flatten, moving from this realm to that of the art in a movement so fluid it was relaxing. The feeling of being one with everything washed over her. She was used to it by now; she had chased her charge through the portraits of many, many places all over the world. Hogwarts was different. There was a nexus here, a nexus of ancient magic and new. She opened her eyes to a world of satin dresses and silk robes. She was standing between a redhead girl and the pair she had come to change. A blonde boy Black" and the girl she had spoken to in the stands. Slytherin and Gryffindor, the two most opposing forces in Hogwarts. She had to produce harmony between the two or there would be trouble. Laura moved to the boy, taking his head gently in her hands, turning it toward the girl, softening his features to pay her the attention Laura so much needed her to get. She took his hand, sliding it around the body of the girl, spreading the fingers over the fine blue satin. Laura had been held like that once, when she was human. The memory almost stopped her continuing. She moved to the girl. She turned her head gently, until she was staring into the boy's eyes, then she moved her hand, moving it higher to force the arm into a kind of embrace.

Once she was done, Laura stepped back, and admired her handiwork as they spun around the dance floor. Laura smiled. Her plan was working perfectly.


	3. Right Behind You

Disclaimer: All characters, settings and worldbuilding belong to JK Rowling, with exceptions for the original characters. Plot belongs to me. Written as a challenge.

Chapter Three: Right behind You "His hair was black, his eyes were blue 

_His arm was stout his word was true_

_But how I wish I was with you…"_

_-Siuil a Ruin- Traditional Irish Song_

Hermione Granger woke in the exact position in which she fell asleep. Sprawled along the floor, she found herself with her hair spread in a tangled fan around her. Crookshanks was curled up asleep on her left arm. She vaguely remembered him curled up on her chest, as cats tended to do when it was the least convenient. The book she had been reading was lying open beside her, in front of the now dead fire. With no House-Elves to tend it, the chimney had sooted up awfully. Hermione started to move. She wasn't sure of the time, but she did know that her neck was in such a position that moving it felt like needles in her bones. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to borrow Ginny's book; she had enough to read. There were essays to write, extra lessons to learn, and things to investigate. Hermione slapped the book closed with a half-hearted whack. She almost forgot herself when she stretched, arching her back, chest first, with a loud moan. She felt her spine crack into place as the cat rushed away from the movement. Hermione, with her fingers tangled in her mess of hair, hummed lightly to herself. The song had haunted her for a few days now, though this wasn't as unusual as all that. Songs got stuck in people's heads all the time. Hermione rubbed her eyes and glanced at the painting above the fireplace. _These paintings really have a mind of their own! _The painting Draco had managed to grip tightly a handful of her dress satin, just above her painted buttocks. With a shrug, Hermione picked up the book and made her way to the dorm, the words to the song she was humming escaping her quietly. It was two in the morning, she had discovered, and she had Runes in the morning.

Draco rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time in the past two minutes. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, somewhere deep down he felt something was missing. He flexed his hand. It felt as if he had been holding on to a handful of something soft, and had let go suddenly. What's more, there was a darned song stuck in his head. He remembered it too, the one they were playing at the wedding last year. _Merlin save me! Am I to be haunted by Muggle music now?_ Draco rolled over again, and still it was there. He blinked. Nothing had managed to keep him up before, not like this. The strangest thing was, the only way he could describe the problem, was that he was feeling _lonely_. He groaned to himself, not caring when one of his roommates threw a pillow across the room at him. _I really should buy a cat or something. _Draco stretched out full, stomach leaving the bed as his back arched. He was awake now. That meant laying in the dark with… Goyle let out a snore to end all snores. Draco sat up and swung his legs out of bed. There had to be something he could do. Something that wasn't laying awake, taking bets with himself about whether the windows would shatter before Crabbe joined the chorus.

He pushed himself roughly to his feet and left the room, dragging his robe from the end of his bed as he walked. He took the corridor between the dorm and the common room in only a few steps, his robe fully tied as he emerged. He found the outer robe of his uniform on the common room couch where he'd left it. It was the cleanest item of his uniform he had left; everything else was casual wear, underclothes, or Quidditch uniforms. Draco looked around at the mess of a room. He couldn't stand it here, not in this dump. He'd go to the owlery, write to his father to send an Elf for himself. He left the room in its dismal state, ignoring the protests of the portrait on the door as he yanked his over-robes on.

Hermione rushed down the stairs from the dorm. _Runes in the morning!_ She pulled on her dressing gown as she ran, her slippers half falling off her feet. She had Runes in the morning and hadn't even studied. She pushed her way through the portrait hole and made for the library, leaving one slipper where it fell.

Somewhere in the corridor by the Slytherin common room, Draco Malfoy heard a voice inform him that the best route to the owlery at this time of night goes right by the library, and the girl in the painting by him formed herself in front of the frame of the landscape she formerly occupied.

Harry dipped his toe into the lake. It was tingly, like putting his foot in a glass of cola. It was strangely warm too, and thick. It sent a shiver up his leg. Another feeling washed over him, warm and fluffy up his other leg and along his body, heavy on his abdomen then chest. The heavy feeling spun, tiny little pressure points chasing each other around as they settled above his heart. A fluffy stroke crossed his chin, resting under his nose. The warm fizzy water suddenly grew cold on his foot. He felt the heaviness on his chest press rhythmically down on him. _What the hell kind of dream is this? _Harry was only vaguely aware of his thoughts as he took another step into the cold water. The Giant Squid sprang from the water as nimbly as a dancer. It was a lot smaller than he remembered, about the size of an average human. It lifted two of its tentacles, opening its mouth wide. The sound that came from its mouth was a mixture of a growl and a contented purr. The sound rang through his head until it faded slowly into a low drawn out 'meow'. _Meow! What the heck?_ This time, Harry couldn't ignore the sound of his own voice and jumped out of the water. The heavy feeling moved and the fluff under his nose stroked along it. The tingling in his nose came as a shock, and shot out before he had a chance to stop it. The heavy feeling dug in its claws with a loud yowl.

"CROOKSHANKS!" Harry shot upright suddenly, sending the cat flying across the room. Harry stared the cat down, ignoring the fact he couldn't see it as anything more than a ginger blur. Crookshanks just sat and meowed. Harry replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose and stared, narrowing his eyes at the disturber of his sleep. In defiance, Crookshanks turned a circle and sat again, staring back.

"Get out." Crookshanks mewed and tilted his head. Harry frowned. "That only works on Hermione. Go bug her." Harry flung his blanket up over his head and lay down. After a long pause, he let out an exasperated sigh. "You're still there, aren't you?"

"Harry, stop chatting up the bloody cat and go back to sleep," Dean moaned from his bed across the room. Harry swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his eyes, mumbling various curses in Crookshanks' direction. He stood up, wearing only the bottom part of his new blue pyjamas. He picked the cat up roughly in his arms and took it into the common room. With as much force as sleep would allow him, he threw the cat forward to the couch, barely missing a large book resting open on the couch.

"Now get to bed, you stupid thing!" Harry shooed Crookshanks away from the couch toward the girls' dorms. Crookshanks ran by a slipper, left lying haphazardly by the portrait hole. Harry recognised it with great clarity. He'd given those slippers to Hermione as a gift for Christmas. He frowned at it. Everyone had said that it was a silly gift to give your best friend's girlfriend, though Hermione had hinted for months before. She seemed happy with the gift, though evidence seemed to indicate otherwise, if she was willing to leave them lying around the common room. Harry picked up the slipper – all blue with white Chinese dragons embroidered on them. They were Muggle slippers, admittedly, but he saw no point in buying Hermione anything she couldn't show her parents, although he had charmed them not to smell, after some not-so-subtle hints from Lavender. He looked around for the other one, lifting robes and couch cushions and anything else there was about the place. He naturally piled what he picked up neatly. If living with the Dursleys had done nothing else for him, it had made him freakishly neat in many respects. He kept what he knew belonged to boys in one pile, girls in another and what he wasn't sure of in another pile. He never found the other slipper, but he did find the left sock Ron had lost last year. _Always the way._

Draco followed another corridor toward the Owlery. It wasn't the _right _corridor, not by a long shot, but he was compelled that way somehow. This was the way to the library, he knew. He continued on, no real thought of turning back toward the Owlery in his head. He wasn't sure why he was headed toward the library either. It didn't really matter why, as long as he could make up a good excuse if he got caught. The one thing he was most glad of was his ability to avoid entanglements with other students.

That was until _she_ appeared.

She was waddling hurriedly toward the library, mumbling loudly. She didn't seem to notice that she was missing a slipper or that her hair was a tangled mess. She didn't seem to notice that what she was mumbling didn't make any sense, nor did she seem to notice when she barrelled head first into him.

"Sorry," she said. She continued on as if nothing had happened. _This just would not do! No rotten little Mudblood was going to muss Draco Malfoy's pyjamas and get away with it._

"Slow down, Granger!" Draco called after her, reaching out a hand quickly to catch her wrist. Her skin was smooth beneath his hand, though he didn't truly notice. It felt as if he'd had his hand on that skin for a very long time, and had simply applied pressure.

"What is it Dra… Malfoy?" Hermione turned with a snap. The fact she had almost said his name had made him double take, but the look of anger in her eyes had an effect he didn't expect- it actually hurt. He tried to ignore it by looking her up and down, scrutinising her Mudblood person. The annoyance in her showed, from her tight arm muscles to her shuffling legs. Somewhere deep down, he had a feeling he knew exactly what those legs felt like to touch.

Her foot tapped sporadically, and she held herself as if she was in control, as if his hand were nowhere near her. The oddest of all was, she was shivering, and blushing. "Well?"

The words caught in his throat, and he choked a little. He had no idea what to say, for the first time in his life he had no clue. "Is the one-slipper thing a trend to you Gryffindorks or is it a Muggle thing?"

Hermione looked down with a gasp, grabbing the slipper roughly in her free hand and yanking it off her foot, stamping it down with a dull thud. It was not a bad looking slipper, for Muggle junk, and had a charm set on it to keep it smelling like vanilla. Draco breathed deep as she waggled it under his nose. Vanilla was suddenly intoxicating to him, and it was making him hallucinate. What she said not only hurt, but also made him want to say 'sorry'. _No you don't, Malfoy, she's hexing you with foot odour!_

"And furthermore, Malfoy, it is none of your business how I wear my slippers, whether on or off!" She pulled her arm from his grip roughly. He held his arm there for a short moment, and as the mist lifted from his mind, he realised suddenly that he didn't have a bout of overwhelming hate take over his senses. It unnerved him, and almost made him think he was in some kind of nightmare. "What are you doing out of bed anyway?"

A thousand things went through Draco's head. He contemplated everything from the truth to a narky comment. He contented himself with a scowl and a simple change of subject. "Probably something more productive than you."

"Is _that_ all you could come up with? You're more pathetic than I ever could have imagined!"

_Ouch. Think of a comeback, Draco, you know you want to. _Draco frowned harder. Whatever was blocking his anger was starting to melt. "Actually Granger, I was going to the Owlery." _The TRUTH! What are you thinking, Malfoy! _"I'm writing to my father to rectify the problem that _you_ caused! You probably hid the House Elves in your enormous robes and smuggled them out."

"I caused? How dare you suggest that! I never…" Hermione let out something between a roar and a snort. It was an incredibly unattractive noise. "You really don't deserve a response, you really don't! And stop that infernal humming!"

Draco hadn't even noticed he was humming. He studied his vocal chords; he hadn't been humming, not even a little. "Granger, seriously, you really have to see somebody. You're hearing things."

"I beg your pardon! That humming is coming from you!" the all too familiar voice of the school's most annoying painting said.

Draco turned around, first intent on sarcasm, then on the study of Sir Cadogan, chatting to some non-existent force. He shifted the over-robes he had roughly put on to search for his wand in his dressing gown. His dressing gown pocket, though full of things like used tissues, contained no wand. "Come here, Granger."

"Why?"

"Can't you do what you're told just this once, or has your life with Potter eradicated your respect for authority?"

A harrumph heralded her submission, though she moved very quietly. He had noticed it before, but now he felt perhaps he knew why. Granger wasn't such a goody goody after all. It did make sense, Potter and Weasel hadn't enough brains between them to come up with some of the stunts Draco had heard rumours about. "It really is too early in the morning to argue with you, Draco." Hermione moved in next to him, seemingly oblivious to the fact she'd said the word 'Draco' without either venom or spit. She planted her hands on her hips and stared at the painting. "Am I looking for anything in particular?"

"No, that's the point. Whom, in the name of Merlin, is that fool Cadogan talking to?"

"Are you sure it's only me hearing things?"

"Shut up. Listen." The voice talking to Cadogan wasn't actually in the painting, but slightly outside of it, as if there were a person under an invisibility cloak. Draco instinctively reached out and grabbed at the air. Nothing. Not even a stiff wad of air to send his hand through. He remembered the prank Potter had pulled the year before, but even he couldn't be stupid enough to be busted twice, surely.

"It isn't Harry, if that's what you think."

"And you'd know that, how?"

"Well for a start, the voice is a girl."

"And?" This time he did hear her walk, and smelled the rush of vanilla breeze, and felt the whack on the back of his head as a slipper flew at him.

"If all you called me over for was to insult my best friend then…"

"The voice stopped."

"It stopped?" Curiosity seemed to take over malice as she approached the painting. "Sir Cadogan, who were you talking to?"

The painted Knight turned to Draco and Hermione flipping his visor up from his face. He spoke with a rasp, "Pleasant girl, quite pleasant. Said she was going to bring some life into the school. It's about time, too. And you were humming, by the way."

Hermione spent most of what Sir Cadogan was saying mumbling something about a Laura. Draco spent most of it waiting for Selena to arrive. When he mentioned the humming, they both snapped out of their contemplation.

"Told you so," Hermione said, turning to walk away, picking up her slipper swiftly. She walked toward the library, holding her robe tightly around her.

"I can't help if the song's stuck in my head." He took a deep breath. "Right behind you." Draco shook the haze from his head and turned to walk, remembering the owlery was most definitely not in this direction. _In the morning, I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey to see if she's got something for insanity. Stupid Granger has to be such a pain!_ Draco ignored Cadogan's lecherous comments as he walked on. A loud padding noise interrupted his complaining brain. The sound stopped as suddenly as it began. He turned to face the source, to find Hermione pelting her way down the corridor.

"Hide, you fool, there's someone coming!"

"Filch?" Draco asked, already running. Hermione grabbed onto his wrist and dragged him behind a trophy cabinet. _How could I have forgotten the teachers?_

"I don't know!" Hermione peeked around the edge of the trophy cabinet. The voice that started around the corner was not one Draco recognised, not that that surprised him, he didn't pay much attention to people who weren't him.

"What possessed you to do that in the first place?" A female voice said. Her tone, though essentially flat, gave away the reprimand the other person was getting.

"That isn't any of the teachers," Draco whispered. Hermione shushed him with a flick of her hand. She managed to hit him lightly on the nose. He rubbed it absently, and chalked it up for later reference.

"You shouldn't ask stupid questions, Aunt."

"McCallum?" Draco whispered. He ignored the frown Hermione gave him. One half of his brain was already plotting revenge on her for the events of this evening. The other half was plotting revenge on Draco for the events of this evening.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, you insolent little boy! I swear you get more like your mother every day."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Don't talk back!" The female voice cried out, without echo in the empty stone halls. "If I find out it was you who brought us here, McCallum, by the keepers you will find yourself becoming more like your father!"

An audible gulp rang through the hall, followed by a scared squeak.

"Exactly." The sound of shuffling footsteps speeding up to a run filled the corridor once the woman had spoken. Draco ventured a peek around the corridor. Timothy McCallum, the Slytherin Chaos Keeper was running from a woman in a black and blue cloak.

Hermione, living on no sleep and even less food, spent much of her Friday evening elbow deep in washing detergent. After much negotiation between the prefects, the Ravenclaws had agreed to join what the people of the two houses now called "the cleaners league". The Ravenclaws, agreeing to tidy up in exchange for clothes cleaning filled the common room. Most were carrying bundles of clothing, some in blue bags, and others in red. A few levitated bags of rubbish, and yet more were waving wands about frantically, cleaning implements floating about the place like something out of fantasia. The Patil sisters each carried a large garbage bag, four drifting in mid air behind them. Hermione pulled a strand of hair from her face. She was now perfectly convinced her arms would be purple from the red and blue dye by the end of the evening. The Quidditch match was going to be the next day, and a party had been organised in the Gryffindor common room for the evening after. They had invited the Ravenclaws and some of the Hufflepuffs to that too. The Hufflepuffs refused before Ginny had gotten the sentence fully out, and had requested that they not only drop the matter, but also 'stop talking to them all together'. Hermione took out her wand, quickly glancing over the brightly colored lettering labelling each bathtub. Each was labelled by year and house. Hermione muttered a few words and the water within began spinning. She hadn't yet perfected the spell, and despite her best efforts, robes often shot across the room. Once the spinning had begun, Hermione drew in the washing from outside, ducking a wad of sodden robe from "R-4th yr".

"Ginny! The rope went slack!" Hermione looked down along the wall of the tower, watching as Professor McGonagall picked some of the Quidditch uniforms from her windowsill. Hermione winced as the older woman yanked the entire line into her arms and left the window. The students hadn't quite gotten around to telling the teachers of their endeavour yet, in fear perhaps more work would be put upon them. As it was, many of the teachers had attempted to become the kitchen staff as well but failed. Professor Snape's leek and onion soup was legend for just how sick it made everyone. Flitwick's roast didn't even bear mentioning.

"It what?" Ginny asked, pushing past a Ravenclaw boy and his self-operating broom.

Hermione flicked her wand quickly, the spinning ceased, "McGonagall's coming up." Ginny didn't respond, but ran out of the bathroom, crying out a warning of the teacher's approach as she went. The common room erupted in yells of instruction from prefects. Hermione couldn't help but wonder at the organisation skills of the students. She only hoped McGonagall saw it that way, and not as an opportunity to lecture them on rules of house separation.

"Hermione Granger!" McGonagall's voice echoed through the common room. Hermione winced despite herself; they were going to cop it and cop it hard. "Miss Granger, have you managed to gain access to the laundry?"

Hermione opened her eyes sheepishly, glancing worriedly at Padma Patil and Gregory Pierce clutching their sacks of rubbish, and a dark haired girl fidgeting with the pile of Quidditch uniforms. Hermione breathed out hard. "Professor?"

"The laundry, girl! Have you managed to get into the laundry?"

"No, Professor, we use the bathtubs to wash the clothes. Is there some trouble?" Hermione took the washing that Professor McGonagall handed her and placed them on the couch nearby, ready to be sorted later.

McGonagall looked around, obviously in a fluster, "Nobody can get in, Miss Granger, not even Professor Dumbledore. Now, carry on." McGonagall seemed more distracted than was really necessary. "And as nice a gesture as it was to wash the Slytherin uniforms, would it not have been better to wash your own?" With that, she left the common room, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. Hermione looked to the pile of robes the dark haired girl was sorting. There, though Hermione was sure it had not been so a moment ago, was a pile of emerald green and blue robes.

"Mongrels!"

"And you say they were Harry's when you washed them?"

"That's right."

"And now they belong to Malfoy?"

"Exactly."

"And when were you let out of St. Mungo's?"

"Ron!" Hermione threw the bundle of green at Ron, then taking particular delight in watching him attempt to struggle out of, and as a result become more tangled into the knot of fabric. Once he had made his way out, he pushed the fabric away as if it burned.

"Malfoy germs!" he yelled shaking his head rapidly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took up the Quidditch uniforms roughly. "Grow up, Ron. I'll see you at the match." Hermione gathered the bundle and left the room, leaving Ron to his own devices. He was already starting to wonder about her, but having Malfoy's robes smell like his girlfriend was almost too much to bear. _It's only because she washed them, it's only because she washed them._

"Hey Ron, can you pass me that pot of red paint?" Lucy pierce awoke him from his round of self-assurance. He picked up the nearest pot of paint he could find and buried his chin in his hands.

"Yellow works, too." Lucy took the paint from his hand, obviously exasperated. She stretched over and took the red paint. She smelled like solvent and turpentine. No matter how many potions and things that could be given to her, she had always said that 'the smell is what makes it real'. The problem was, even the painted figures were repulsed by the smell.

"Couldn't you charm that stuff or something?" Ron wrinkled his nose until it hurt, his face now aching from the effort both of thinking and trying not to smell the problem. He didn't truly care if he offended Lucy, not really.

Lucy dipped her brush lovingly into the paint, "Now where would the fun be in that?" Lucy stroked a thin line of paint carefully onto the dress of a Slytherin girl, who looked none too pleased with it for some reason.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's just annoyed I can't get any metallic copper paint. Remember, Yvette's dress was that hideous colour, made her look like a cheap Christmas decoration."

Ron tried to force back the laugh, he really did. It did not work.

"Yeah, she did look like shite, didn't she?" Ron collapsed back into a world of thought. Dean and Seamus walked in carrying a jug and an Irish drum thing Ron couldn't quite remember the name of. The common room harp, which had been moved here by Dumbledore after the Fluffy encounter- a time Ron still flinched to remember- was the object of their movement. Ron greeted them with a grunt that impressed even him.

"Shouldn't you be at Quidditch?" Dean said, taking his seat by the harp. Seamus smacked him on the arm with his free hand. Ron didn't care really.

"Nah, pulled me off the team, put Elisa Chambers in instead, though I actually don't remember her being at tryouts." Ron shrugged absently. He had more important things to think about, something told him.

"Snape to McGonagall! McGonagall to… Hazelwood! Hazelwood has the Quaffle! Weasley calls for it, Filch is taking up the bat!" Aaron Moon, the Hufflepuff commentator, cried out into the _sonorous_ charmed microphone. The entire school had gathered to the Quidditch pitch, nobody would dare to miss it. Draco moved forward to the edge of the Slytherin box. It was jammed between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and Draco could hear every shout from them.

"Give it over, Hazelwood!"

"For the Love of Merlin!"

"Ouch, that had to hurt!"

The thump even made Draco flinch. Filch was ruthless with the bat. Erikka Hazelwood had given in and thrown the Quaffle to the Weaselgirl, and Filch had, in one fowl swoop, managed to slam the Bludger into Erikka, slam her into Kevin Donaldson, and then get them both tangled in each other's clothes. Draco laughed out loud. When Granger had brought a large pile of green uniforms to him, he'd thought it odd, especially since every Slytherin player was wearing theirs. Just to shut her up, he'd helped to turn them red again. It was highly more difficult to do than he would have thought. He thought it was lucky Erikka got stuck in a Ravenclaw; it would be an awful waste of energy if she'd torn through Weasley's. Not that either of them having their clothes torn off was a bad thing. _Control yourself, Draco, your thoughts show in these trousers._

Draco felt a nudge from somewhere behind and to the right of him. A little Hufflepuff kid, had to be first year, was nudging him. "Donaldson doesn't seem to care, does he?"

"Buzz off, you, or I'll tell her what you said."

"And?"

"And, smart-arse…" Draco pointed to the scene unfolding before them. As was a tried and true Slytherin strategy, Erikka had literally torn herself away from the blue-clad Donaldson, leaving bits of broom twig and fabric tumbling toward the earth. She grabbed hold of his bat in one hand and broom end in the other. She looked pissed off, and the Hufflepuff boy looked scared.

_Of course he should be scared, I taught her that move_. Draco blinked at his own thought, _all right, so I did not, but near enough to_. Erikka had now a tight hold on Donaldson's broom, dragging him through the air, eventually half throwing him toward their own goal. Draco grinned to himself. He knew this strategy well. Donaldson was now in charge of hitting the Quaffle into Erikka's hands.

"Weasley ducks a Bludger from Sinistra, ducks another from Filch, and intercepts the Quaffle from Snape and… What's this? McGonagall and Flitwick playing dirty? McGonagall knocks Elanor Branstone and leaves Flitwick free to chase the Snitch. Potter and Flitwick race for the snitch! Potter, Flitwick, Potter! Ginny Weasley takes the Quaffle through and - Score! Ten points for the student team! And… Who's that on the pitch? What's she doing?" The game halted for a moment. Someone was on the pitch; a black speck of human had just spread its arms and dropped them suddenly.

A wave hit the stadium; one by one people were dropping out of sight, brooms flying about like crazy. Draco had barely time to frown in puzzlement before he felt a draft around his chest. _That's not right_. Goyle dived behind the bench beside him. Draco looked down. His clothes were gone, and what's more, they'd been replaced by…

"PINK BUNNY BATHERS!" Hermione Granger screamed, clutching herself desperately. Most of the females around him had been taken by the force of the pink bikini. _Don't look, Draco, it just isn't Malfoy to display little Malfoy, even in the sleeping bag._

Draco rethought it repeatedly, studying the pink rabbits chasing each other around his ballet pink Speedo. He ducked as quickly as he could. As he looked frantically for his robe, a familiar giggle rang through the entire stadium.

"Bitch!"


	4. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the...

Framing Harmony Chapter 4: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Owlery 

"_A well balanced person has a drink in both hands"_

_Billy Connolly_

"_That_ was something I never want to see again!" Gregory Pierce dragged himself through the portrait hole, images of four hundred pairs of pink fluffy bunny bathers surely permanently burned to the back of his eyelids. "Hagrid in a Speedo is a vision I will never get over."

"At least you weren't sitting on a broom directly under Snape when it happened to you," Ginny Weasley said, shaking her head as if it would send away the mental image. She had dispelled the tieback charm she performed on her hair in an attempt to hide the fact she was in a rather small bikini with strategically placed rabbits. It hadn't really worked at least Neville had stopped staring. Hermione Granger and Greg's sister Lucy had done much the same, though Lucy was in a plain boy-leg one piece and Hermione was in what appeared to be an eighteenth century bathing costume, though he couldn't be sure, they never showed them in Inside Sport. Greg absently flicked his wand to right a jumping record playing in the corner. Lucy always played music when she painted and it drove him nuts. She'd have his balls for earrings if he turned it off, and Greg preferred them where they were. Harry Potter- who was one of the few who was in board-shorts and had managed to tear off some fabric from the Quidditch stands to wear, wriggled straight through the crowd and up the dormitory stairs. It seemed pretty rude that he could get dressed; the Ravenclaws had decided they were going to turn it into a bubble-party. They had technically won, since Harry had rammed head first into the snitch trying to dive for cover. Greg smiled to himself and took hold of his sister's wand- the clothing was waterproof, the common room wasn't theirs, there was fun to be had. Greg and a few other Ravenclaws began filling the air with bubbles. A few Gryffindor giggles heralded their beginning too. Lavender Brown bounced around the common room, her wand flew around in her hand. Bubbles in the shape of dogs emerged in rainbow glory, chasing Greg's rat shaped bubbles.

Unfortunately for Greg, though bathers were waterproof, book-bound parchment wasn't.

"GREG!" Hermione yelled out. She pulled her wand from among her possessions and aimed straight at her book. Casting a quick drying charm and slamming the book closed. She gathered her legs and sat on the couch in a huff.

"I wish I'd had a camera for that look on Snape's face though, it was classic!" Ron sat down beside Hermione with an ungraceful thud. "And I'd have paid even Crabbe for a picture of Malfoy's face.' He swatted at a bubble in the shape of a rat, it burst in a showed of green watery substance.

Greg couldn't stop himself laughing, emitting more bubbles in a long stream from the end of his wand.

"What do you think did it anyway? Do you think it was that McCallum kid?" Hermione asked. Always the little questioner.

Luna Lovegood, ready with an answer she was incredibly confident over, spoke up in a know-it-all tone; "Ah, the South African Cotton Brownies strike again."

Greg chose, quite consciously, to ignore her.

"Malfoy's face probably would have been interesting. Mainly because the bikini would give away his little secret."

Greg would have been forgiven for believing the wand in his face was a joke. He would have been forgiven for assuming bubbles would soon fly out of the end straight at him. He would have been forgiven for thinking that over-serious look on Hermione's face was about to collapse into a fit of giggles. He could also have been forgiven for guessing what was really going to happen…

"_Semper Ponerum!_"

"MCCALLUM!" Draco stormed through the Slytherin common room, knocking people and furniture out of the way at random. "McCallum, when I get my hands on you, you'll wish you were born Muggle! McCallum!"

"What?"

Draco did a full ninety-degree turn with a throat grip in one movement, "You did this you little bastard!"

Timothy McCallum looked as if he feared for his life. He had hold of Draco's tightening hands, and was wriggling feverishly. "Did what?"

Draco roared and grabbed at the nearest pair of bathers he could find. Crabbe winced as the fabric was dragged uncomfortably forward. "THIS!"

McCallum looked like he desperately wanted to laugh, but the pulsive shaking beneath Malfoy's fist suggested that his instinct to survive was in fact a lot stronger than any other force.

"I didn't do it, I swear, Draco, please, I swear I didn't do it!"

"I don't believe you," Draco said, the anger having shorted the raging circuit in his brain and switched to 'eye of the storm' mode. "In fact, I am going to give you thirty seconds before, not only will you wish that you were born Muggle, but you will wish that you and your entire family had never existed at all. In fact, if you don't tell me before I finish this sentence, when I'm done with you, I'll feed you to Millicent's pet cat!" Draco ignored the pleas of the boy as he tried to announce his innocence.

"Oh dear, I believe that…"

"Let him go Malfoy, he's not done anything wrong." Blaise said, sounding anxious and protective. He'd stripped one of the beds and now wore a sheet as a toga. The idea had merit. Draco released the boy with a hefty push.

"You aren't worth the trouble anyway."

"Draco, why would you think he did it, if he's wearing a bright pink skin suit?" Pansy Parkinson, who had opted for a sarong made of the finest serpent wall hanging, asked, a slightly shaky undertone in her voice.

"Because he's just doing it to look innocent, that's why. That's what I'd do. Why doesn't everyone just get dressed?"

Pansy checked the knot on the wall hanging she wore. She spoke quietly, "Because all the clothes are gone."

"They're what?"

"All the clothes, they've all gone, each and every one of them."

Hermione tried one last thing to get up. She kicked up with her hips, bouncing Ron off her. She tried to kick up a leg, but Ginny had been sitting on it so heavily the circulation was cut off. Her other leg was occupied by Neville Longbottom so she had no hope. She had no idea what had come over her. She had just snapped. The book wasn't all that important anyway, not really. Yes she would have liked to see what the heck was going on, but it wasn't even like he'd smudged the ink.

"Let me go!" She cried, trying to pull her left arm from Harry's grasp. She was spread-eagled on the floor, with Ginny, Neville, Luna, Ron and Lucy pinning her down. Her wand had been long since taken away from her, and behind her thrashing head, Dean and Seamus were trying various pronunciations of _finite incantatum_ to unstick Greg from the floor.

"We're not letting you go Hermione, not until you tell us what in the name of Merlin's French knickers you were doing!" Ron yelled, retaking his place sitting heavily on her pelvis, her wand shaking violently in his hand. He was sitting the pointy part of her hips, and her skin ached.

"I don't know, something just came over me, I don't know what it was."

Ron slid off her, allowing Harry and he to swap positions, "Now Hermione, there must have been a reason."

Hermione never quite understood why, as much as she loved Ron, Harry was always the one who could wheedle almost anything out of her. She turned her head away from him. "My theory is it's something to do with that."

Harry turned his head to where she was facing, toward the fireplace. He turned his head back.

"Hermione, I…"

"Oh dear," A small, exhausted voice said from somewhere in the direction of the portrait hole, "If this is an inconvenient time, sir, Dobby could return later."

"All teachers to the North Tower stairs, immediately!" The _sonorous_ charm echoed through Hogwarts' stone halls. Minerva McGonagall, yanking the inconvenient white bathing bonnet from her head as she ran, raced through the corridors. She ignored the questioning shouts of the Huffelpuffs she ran into. Her bathing costume, though most likely considered particularly racy in the seventeenth century, wouldn't be considered anything less than overdressing by most of the Hogwarts students' grandparents. She hadn't found her clothes, and when Dumbledore's announcement had come through, she hadn't even bothered to find any kind of covering. She regretted it somewhat, as the slowly cooling September air dropped quite a bit in the Hogwarts stone halls. She took hold of the first loose tapestry she could find, and wrapped it around herself as she approached the corridor beneath the North Tower. Professor Sprout was already there, as were Filch and Dumbledore. They were all staring dumbfounded at the long, spiraling stairs. Minerva followed their gaze, her eyes following the stairs up into the misty darkness. The midday sun gave the unearthly fog a yellow glow, before the fog went up beyond the light's reach.

"What is that?" She said, weaving her way between the other professors.

"That remains to be seen." Dumbledore watched the mist studiously. Minerva watched too, swirling in a pattern like a whirlwind, moving around the windows. With a sudden musical howl, the fog dropped in thick, crystalline droplets. Minerva reached forward and took a handful. They were red, each and every one of them. She looked at the tiny stones in her hand.

"Rubies." She wriggled her palm so that the rubies turned in her hands. Almost as soon as she'd identified them, the rubies melted, slowly at first, and then in a sudden gush as the stairwell erupted into a waterfall of…

"Blood. Vampire blood if I'm not very much mistaken and I'm usually not," Severus said coldly. He was the only occupant of the corridor with his nose not unattractively wrinkled. Minerva sniffed; the blood smell at least was a change from his hair.

She turned her hand over, studying the droplets as they left she hand and splashed onto the floor. "What is going on in this school?"

"What do you mean gone?" Draco rushed past Pansy like a crazed Hippogryph, knocking her shoulder roughly. The knot in the tapestry sarong she wore came loose, and had dropped off before Draco had reached the stairs. Pansy retied it at her waist, with Blaise out of the picture; there was no need to be subtle when it came to trying for Draco Malfoy.

"What are you staring at Zabini? Wishing you could have it all back, or are you just wondering what that little Gryffindor slut would look like in this?"

Blaise snorted, almost a sobbing snort, but he hid it well, "Oh come on Parkinson, my little sister looks better in a bikini, and she's fat."

"Yes," Pansy said, trying to sound less offended than she really was. _No holds barred Zabini_. "And she also looks like a Weasley. Was there something your mother wasn't telling you? Long business trips for the ministry perhaps?"

Blaise clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "I'd kill you if you weren't a girl."

"Oh, you scared a girl would beat you?"

Blaise was turning an incredible shade of red; it clashed horribly with the wetsuit thing he was wearing. The tiny white rabbits, all adorned with glorious blue ribbons, fought for places to hide behind his knees.

"Are you two at it again?" Draco came down the stairs, looking dejected and tying himself in a sheet toga. Draco threw himself onto the nearest overstuffed chair to the boy's dorm corridor. "You're right, they're gone. What in the name of Merlin's balls is going on here?"

"Maybe the House Elves are back and took the clothes to wash them?" Millicent Bulstrode suggested, eating one of the chocolate bars she'd smuggled from Hogwarts' dwindling supplies. Pansy's stomach growled in protest.

"Don't mention House Elves, those shitty little vermin. I'm bloody starving! We'll all end up as fat as you if we live off the chocolate bars and things they're feeding us!"

"At least they are feeding us!" Draco said, rubbing his temples absently. "And could you please cover yourself up Parkinson, you're getting goose bumps."

Pansy frowned, "No I'm no… oh." Pansy pulled the hanging up over her chest, covering her 'goose bumps'.

"All I'm saying, Pansy, is that it wasn't _me_ who ran off crying to a Gryffindor when we broke up." Blaise was never good at giving up unless the last word was his. It made for long conversations; she wasn't good at it either.

"Look who's talking, at least I didn't steal Granger's knickers!"

"Actually, that was Malfoy," Timothy McCallum offered with a smirk. A pillow slammed him in the side of the head.

"One more word out of you McCallum and I'll throw something sharper and much more deadly than a pillow at you." Draco groaned as he sank deeper into the chair, lost behind the thick Victorianesque green velvet back. "Could you please turn off that bloody music?"

Pansy turned toward Draco, not bothering to get up from her desk corner, giving Blaise a view he'd writhe over for days. "What music?"

"I'm surrounded by complete idiots. That bloody music; guitars, drums, violins, piano, some woman droning about never being good enough. It's so bloody loud it's giving me a headache!"

"Oh come now Draco, I thought you'd be all for other people being put in their place. Hufflepuff no doubt, but there is still no music." Pansy turned away, picking at her nails. This had worried her at first, him always talking about there being music, but now it was just normal. He complained all the time. He was going insane. His mother's side of the family obviously, the Blacks had been a load of Gryffindors after all. Pansy took her wand from where she'd stashed it and aimed absently at her fingernails, fading them through various shades of green, until Draco shoved his way past her again, took hold of a book that sat on the desk beside her and charged to his dorm, his two cronies following him like lost puppies.

"Draco!" Pansy yelled as she lost her balance. The tingling in her fingers grew to a piercing feeling before her nails erupted into dragon claws, teeth, ridges and various other draconic body-parts.

Imogen Taylor looked up from her book absently, pillows strategically placed on her body, "Don't you just hate when that happens?"

Dumbledore pushed the door to his office closed and rattled the handle to be sure it was most definitely closed. "It seems we have a problem."

"You don't say." Professor McGonagall had been scrubbing at her hands for a while now, and though she'd gotten rid of every trace of the ruby liquid, she didn't seem convinced at all. "That fact would seem obvious, Albus, but what are we to do?"

"We could keep the students in their dorms until we figure it out, that way if it is a student doing it…"

"…like that McCallum boy…"

"… yes, as Professor Flitwick said, if it is the McCallum boy he can't do any more harm until we have rectified the problem."

Snape stood up, looming darkly over professor Sprout, who cowered in his shadow. "That's your solution to everything isn't it Sprout? 'There's a troll, all students to the dorms', 'there's a criminal loose, to the dorms' or 'there's a shortage of marmalade for my toast, to the bloody dorms!'"

"Now Severus if we fight among ourselves…"

"Oh shut up Flitwick you aren't much better. Every time something goes wrong, it has to be a Slytherin. Merlin forbid a Ravenclaw could do as much as leave a hair in the Great Hall to clean up! Why don't you blame Professor Eddington? She is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after all, aren't they all raging lunatics or monsters or something!"

McGonagall put down her cloth and looked pleadingly at her colleague. "Do you think it's some kind of dark force, Severus? Could You-Know-Who be behind this?"

"Changing our clothes into rabbit covered swimmers is a little petty for his master plan for taking over the world don't you think?" Snape sat back down. "Unless he opts to monopolize the world's clothing market by being the only store that stocks non-bather type items of course."

Dumbledore watched the little squabble as he twisted open a vanilla fudge from its wrapper. When Berty Bott had gotten into fudge there had been an uproar from almost everyone in the Wizarding world, and instead of "Every Flavor Fudge" there was born "Berty Bott's Fudge For All Occasions" which predicted what kind of fudge you'd like at that point and makes itself that flavor. Vanilla was predominant for Dumbledore, the peppermint tended to taste like Muggle toothpaste.

"It isn't Voldemort."

The heads of houses were silent with a collective cringe. "Albus, please don't do that."

"I know this because, not only is it not his style, but because if it were him, Harry Potter would be dead." Dumbledore leant back in his chair, reaching for fudge from the rather large box. _Hazelnut I think, this time_.

McGonagall closed the formerly red hand around the wrist of the other, whatever she would have said caught in a haze of confusion. "Then what is doing it?"

"That, I think," Dumbledore said, spitting the fudge into his hand, "will be the biggest test of them all." He looked down into his hand. Among the spit and a little vanilla fudge, were the crushed bits of a beetle. "Yes, this is indeed something beyond even me."

Harry flung himself off Hermione so fast he didn't really notice when he kicked Ginny in the shoulder. He shoved his glasses further up his nose and stood quickly. "Dobby! Dobby, no, wait!"

"Why does Harry Potter hold Hermione Granger so? Is this a kind of game sir?"

"Dobby, where have you been? Let me go!"

"Can we let her go, Harry?" Ginny asked, struggling against Hermione's wriggles and attempts to get out of her grasp. Harry answered with a dismissive gesture that Ginny had always taken as a yes. She released Hermione, who thanked her by knocking her over in the rush to get to Dobby. _You're welcome, Hermione_.

"Dobby did not know where else to go, sir."

Harry knelt down to Dobby's height. "It's alright Dobby. Just tell us where you've been." Harry gestured to a cushion, Dobby looked at it, fluffed it, and put it back on an armchair.

"Dobby cannot say sir."

Harry rubbed his face, a groan escaping him indicating he'd been through this all before. "Dobby, now that you are free you can say whatever you like."

Dobby hopped off the armchair and started to absently tidy up. "It is not that Dobby cannot say, sir, but that it is impossible for Dobby to say because Dobby does not know." Dobby started to collect dishes and stack them on the nearest table. He blew carefully at any bubbles that came his way.

"Impossible?"

"Yes, sir. Dobby started to go into the Laundry, Sir, and came out in a very cold place with lots of mountains. Dobby almost froze to death, sir, and began immediately to apparate toward Hogwarts." Dobby closed some nearby books and handed them to Emma Dobbs, who thanked him quietly. Harry grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt; an old t-shirt of Dudley's Harry had given Dobby for Christmas. Hermione had been annoyed, but Dobby was ecstatic.

"You aren't going anywhere, Dobby, until we find out what's going on."

"Dobby is sorry, sir, but it is close to dinner." Dobby snapped his fingers, and was gone, leaving Dudley's shirt behind.

"Ron, pass on the message, students be warned, naked House-Elf on the loose."

Draco watched Professor Eddington drag the heavy looking trunk into the room. She was only a small woman, and looked like she'd snap with too much effort. She really didn't look old enough to be teaching, but then small people never did. Draco yawned and settled into his chair as Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, ever chivalrous and insatiably dull stood to help her. Draco bit into his apple. They'd received small meals now, house-elf standard. It was, however very much on the small and of the least prepared variety. The common room found itself a little tidier too, though no clothes were cleaned. Draco had resorted to telling Crabbe to wash his robes for him, and he'd done his usual screwed up job. Draco, for the first time in his life, envied Weasley. The lot of them always managed to be cleanly turned-out.

"Ah, thank you boys. Now class today we'll be looking at a creature that nobody knows what…"

A hand shot up from the Gryffindor side of the room. Draco felt a brush along the side of his arm. He ignored it, probably Goyle pointing out Granger's openness to be laughed at. He wasn't in the mood.

"Professor, we did Bog…"

"In third year, I know. These are far worse than Boggarts Miss Granger."

Draco rolled is eyes, he knew what was coming. "Bloody Mimickers!" Dark arts of the worst kind- unless they've been properly pacified, they'd tear anything to shreds just to take its form. Vicious bastards.

"Yes Mr. Malfoy, ten points to Slytherin, though the swearing could perhaps be done without. Today we are studying Mimickers- and don't worry, this has been pacified. Can anybody tell me where it is exactly?"

Mumbling filled the room as quite a few theories flew about the place. Lavender Brown squealed as her quill flew across the room. The Irish guy laughed loudly. Draco looked back at Professor Eddington. Something had caught his attention that was very amusing, and would give him the greatest amusement in the information. He raised his hand slowly. For once he wasn't surprised Granger hadn't noticed.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Hermione has it." The class was silent. All eyes were on him, including Hermione's. Potter and Weasley had their mouths open in something resembling a guppy-fish.

"What? She does have it!"

"Did-did you just call her Hermione?" Crabbe asked. His jaw almost as far open as Weasley's. Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Had he just called her Hermione?

"Thank you Mr. Malfoy, but you are quite incorrect." Professor Eddington said, tapping her foot impatiently.

Draco spluttered. He was not to be told he was wrong when he so clearly right! "Oh, I beg your pardon Professor. She doesn't _have_ it so much as she's _wearing_ it." There was definitely something suspicious about that robe. It was too clean, too fresh, and the red bits were just too _red_. No one else had robes that clean. Hermione was gripping frantically at various parts of her outfit, as if she could wring the Mimicker out of her clothes. Draco was sure she was about to have a panic attack.

"I totally agree with you on that one Malfoy, her robe is just far too fresh."

"Exactly! Thank you for noticing my… Hang on." Malfoy twisted in his chair to stare into a pair of murky green eyes.

"Hello."

"You!" Selena was staring back at him. She was dressed in a rumpled Ravenclaw uniform.

Professor Eddington grabbed him by the shoulder, "Mister Malfoy! I suggest you stop talking and pay attention! Miss Granger certainly does not have the Mimicker, and if you upset one of my students one more time, I'll send you to professor Dumbledore!"

Granger squeaked from the other side of the room. "He-he's right Professor. Y-you see?" She held her robes a little out from her chest. She whispered toward the front of the class, "I can't get it off."

"What do you mean you can't get it off? And besides, the Mimicker is right here…" Professor Eddington kicked open the chest and held out a sock. She was waiting, Draco knew, for another sock to appear right beside it. It didn't.

"I told you."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that. Don't panic, Miss Granger, I've used three slowing potions and a _benignus_ charm on it."

Weasley looked between Hermione and the Professor. "When did you do that?"

"This morning, Mr. Weasley. It's quite harmless at the moment."

Draco felt something brush by his ear. "Is she sure about that? Just a warning."

Draco turned to ask what she meant, but was instead accosted by music. Music from all directions. It was that bloody song from the wedding again. It was really getting beyond a joke. That bloody music! And a scream.

"Hermione!" More screams, and the room suddenly became devoid of all life, but for himself, Weasel and pothead and Hermione. Hermione, whose shirt had crawled up and was covering her mouth, the torn remains of another set of robes and the start of a torn under-tunic were revealed to the world. She was turning blue. Never a good sign. Draco winced, as the music got louder.

"What do we do?" Ron yelled at the Professor. Potter was trying to pry the thing off with his hands. _Bad idea Potter_. He could feel his heart slam against his chest in panic. She couldn't die! Stupid Selena, it was all that bitch's fault!

"Selena! Make the bloody thing stop!"

"Malfoy could you stop talking to your invisible fucking friend and help! Be less of a wanker for a change!" Potter yelled.

Draco stood up, gripping his DADA book for dear life. He moved to the other side of the room as best he could through the fallen chairs. Professor Eddington was shouting useful information such as 'don't panic' and 'it isn't supposed to be like this!' _Note to self- get her fired­_.

"Out of the way Potter." Draco kicked Weasley roughly out of the way, taking his DADA book in one hand and the Mimicker in the other. It was turning flesh colored, and Hermione's screams were becoming more of pain than fear. Draco slammed the book under the Mimicker as far as he could.

"What the fuck are you doing Malfoy?" Weasley grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked it away from the screaming girl. The book clattered to the floor. The Mimicker was growing hair. ­_This is not going well_.

Ginny poked her head out of the Potions room door. Seamus Finnegan had rushed in earlier, yelling something about a Mimicker in DADA. Professor Snape, after taking points, had told them to read half the potions book and had left the room as fast as Ginny could have imagined.

"Miss Weasley, has Professor Snape been informed of the accident?" Professor McGonagall asked her as she headed along the hall. Ginny nodded.

"Good, he'll know what to do. Can you please go to the infirmary and fetch Madam Pomfrey. Did anyone say how many were involved?"

"I heard it was just Hermione, Professor."

"I heard more than that. Run up and fetch Madam Pomfrey, and send someone for Professor Dumbledore. Gather as many stretchers you can levitate when you get to the infirmary. Hurry!" Professor McGonagall started off again. Ginny looked into the classroom again. Everyone was staring at her; she probably looked as panicked as she felt. "Um, Luna, could you get Professor Dumbledore and take him to the DADA room please, now would be good." Ginny walked out of the door. Calm was the key. Calm, she told herself, as she pelted down the corridor at full speed.

"Listen Weasley, if you want her face torn off, I suggest you do that again. Otherwise, give me that book." Draco felt a sharp pain in his fingers. The Mimicker was starting to grow fingernails amongst the hair. Draco took the offered book and jammed it back between Hermione and the Mimicker.

"Her nose is going to be mangled, but I'm sure you won't notice." Draco yanked his hand from the Mimicker and looked at it quickly. There was blood streaming from his fingertips, and bits of flesh. He wasn't exactly sure whose it was. He pushed harder on the book. Hermione screamed again.

"What is that supposed to do?" Potter yelled, dropping to his knees beside Draco.

Draco gave another push on the book, "If we can get it to eat the book instead of Hermione we can get the little bastard."

"Can't we just petrify it?"

"Yeah, good idea Weasel, it'll kill her while she doesn't struggle." Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and took it from the Mimicker. It would just be in the way. He put it on his shoulder quickly, returning to the pursuit. The door swung open. Professor Eddington cried out the name of Draco's head of house.

"Can't you do anything?" She screamed. Professor Snape told her outright to leave them alone. He called the other two back too. Malfoy privately praised Merlin. He tried to coax the thing to latch on to the book. Hermione's fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave another muffled scream. He groaned against the pain and endeavored on. There was some kind of liquid escaping onto his hand. He assumed blood, and looked down. No, they were tears. If she could cry it was starting to try to take the book. With a yell he slammed the book through the Mimicker as it took the form of the blue covered manual. Bits of paper and blood shot everywhere as it dropped to the floor. Draco threw it away quickly toward the doorway.

"_Excidium_!" Snape yelled. The thing squealed and burst in a shower of sparks and paper. Hermione was jammed up against him hard. He didn't think she realized who it was yet. He wasn't going to stop her. He didn't mind who she was. He didn't mind the blood on his robes… wait, blood?

"You can let go now Granger, you're bleeding on me." Draco pushed her away. She looked like a really angry Griffon had attacked her. Her face was a mess, some of her hair was missing and she was whimpering. He held her at arms length for a moment, waiting for one of the others to take her. Potter and Weasley were by her side in a second. Draco stood and headed toward the door, holding his torn fingertips in his robes. The room was crowding with more professors, the little weasel and that nutcase Lovegood. He nudged past them roughly, looking back only to check the group hug with Hermione in the middle, and to growl at Eddington. "You had better reimburse me for the book Eddington. And buy Hermione a new set of robes." Draco continued walking. He ignored the protests of Madam Pomfrey, and of Dumbledore. He ignored the music in his head, and he really tried not to remember that she was wearing a black undershirt.

Harry rushed through the infirmary door. It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing disgusting things. When Dudley cut his leg and it went festered it was actually kind of cool, but Hermione was oozing purple. Not just any purple but really sick purple. He found the boy's toilets just in time for him to loose the miniscule dinner he'd eaten. Twice. Harry felt awful, really awful. He was meant to be there for Hermione, not stuck in the toilets throwing up.

"Is she going to be alright?" A female voice, flat and lifeless, said from behind him.

"You aren't meant to be in here."

"I just wanted to know if she'll be alright." The voice continued.

"She'll be fine in a couple of days, she's just healing." He threw up again.

"That's good. I wouldn't want to feel responsible."

Harry spat into the bowl and flushed it. "Why would you feel responsible?"

"I have my reasons." Harry heard her walk away. "Tell her Laura sends her regards."

Harry acknowledged, leant over, and threw up again.


	5. Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Framing Harmony Chapter Five: Do You Know the Muffin Man? 

"_It is no laughing matter. A friend of mine took a Chinese fighting muffin to the chest. He went home in four zip-lock bags."_

_Bill Murray, "Charlie's Angels"_

Hermione sat in the crowded Hospital Wing. The usual cut-and-bruise patients went in and out. Professor Eddington had come to visit briefly. Ron, being the silly bugger he was, chased her out again. It was lucky he did really; Hermione was Eddington's fifth accident in a week. Madame Pomfrey was ready to throw curses. It was quite funny actually. Madame Pomfrey went through her complaint routine every time she looked at Hermione.

"That woman should be fired, and soon," she said, handing a tray of potions to Ron to hold. She dipped a cloth in a bubbling purple potion and dabbed at Hermione's wounds. "If only the position wasn't so hard to fill." She finished her work and changed to a new cloth. This time is was blue. Hermione could smell the bamboo stalk.

"Hair growth potion, finally." She said. "My head was starting to freeze."

"There's no way to control this Miss Granger." Madame Pomfrey said. Hermione nodded.

"What do you mean, 'no way to control'?" Ron said, taking Hermione's hand. Hermione turned to him, sure she was giving her trademarked 'honestly, Ron' look.

"I'm sure you did fine." Hermione said, as Madame Pomfrey laid the cloth over her head. She sat still for a moment. The slight prickling sensation grew into a kind of pulling. She suddenly knew what needlework felt like, having thread pulled through tiny holes. She felt the cloth flop off of her head and hit the floor with a squelch.

"Bloody hell."

"Now Ron, there is no reason to swear. It may be a bit puffy now…"

"And pink."

"…but that doesn't… Pink?"

Ron picked up a silver plate, tipping the food scraps off onto the floor. Madame Pomfrey didn't even blink. Hermione felt the worry surge within her. Nobody dirtied Madame Pomfrey's floor.

"Look."

And look she did. At first she didn't notice too much. Her hair was all of a tolerably similar length, and the front was brown. She tilted her head a little and saw exactly the problem. A bright, ballet pink clump had grown out from her bald patch. She pushed the plate away and turned slowly to Madame Pomfrey. _Calm Hermione, easy does it; it was just a little too much Mimicker DNA, that's all._ "May I have my wand, please?"

As Ron handed Hermione her wand, his face still glued into a flabbergasted expression, a tiny voice could be heard under his chair. "…Making a mess, Dobby must clean Hogwarts alone…"

Hermione raised her wand to her head. Madame Pomfrey helped to position the point into the centre of the pink. Lavender and Parvati did the spell all the time in the Dorm room, too much for Hermione's liking. But, being one of those spells one learns in _Young Witch Fashion_ magazine and not worth much, Hermione knew it only through the pair. She aimed carefully and spoke, her usual air of confidence forced from every movement. "_Fulvo mūtātiō."_

"Hermione, put in back. Right now."

"I just wanted to see if I'd wasted my time."

"You're always a waste of time, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Potter. I lost my fingertips to that Mimicker; it'd be a shame if she died. An awful waste of blood." Draco made appoint on showing his mutilated fingers. They were all scarred. They looked like they'd been nibbled by rats. He was proud of those fingers too. "By the way, Potter, have you noticed- fate seems to be entirely against Gryffindor getting the cup this year."

Potter's face dropped suddenly and they both stopped walking.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?"

Draco drew himself up to his full height; this was going to be fun. "You see Potter, somehow all of the rubies in your hourglass have disappeared."

"What did you do Malfoy?" Potter retorted as they started walking again. Draco laughed.

"Me? Why would I do a thing like that? Fate obviously wants Slytherin to…" He broke off suddenly as he pushed on the hospital wing door. Every bed, side table and patient was covered in shining green emeralds. None had hit the floor, and didn't seem to want to. Hermione was picking them off one by one and dropping them. Upon hitting the floor each burst suddenly into a small sprig of some sort.

"What in Merlin's name is going on in the school?" Madame Pomfrey called out, wiping a pile of emeralds from Hermione's side table. Draco shuffled in to the room, uprooting some saplings along the way.

"Do you think someone's trying to tell us something?" Draco said to Hermione. She simply stared back at him, her face showing she believed he had no right to be there. He supposed he didn't really. But then he was visiting an old friend- he was quite fond of those emeralds. He kicked at a sapling that was winding its way toward his foot and sat down on the end of her bed, helping himself to a get-well chocolate frog.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Well Weasel, I didn't see you there."

"Has Lucy finished her painting?" Hermione said to Potter. Obviously trying not to start a scene. Smart girl, Weasley didn't stand a chance. Draco couldn't care less who Lucy was really.

"No, still going on the second panel. It's going to take a while, Hermione."

"Is that red-haired woman back yet?" Draco took a step back, trying to be inconspicuous was never his strong point, but he tried.

Potter sat down on the end of Hermione's bed. He let out a sigh and turned to Weasley quickly before answering. "Nobody knows what you're talking about, Hermione. Ginny says she saw someone walk through an under-painting, but she thinks it was just Marietta or something."

Hermione looked past Potter and straight at Draco. There was something in her eyes that was almost touching. He'd seen that look on Pansy's face when she really wanted him to go to the Yule ball with him, or convince Blaise that Valentines Day wasn't just a silly Muggle thing. That face Draco couldn't resist.

"Draco knows what I mean, don't you Draco?" The pleading face spoke. It really wasn't fair, how did girls do that all the time?

"You mean the voice talking to Cadogan?"

"No, the woman talking to Tim McCallum." Hermione looked like she'd been trying to convince the boys of this for a while. "She's in the painting in Gryffindor Tower."

"Harry, do Mimickers cause hallucinations too?" Weasley asked. Somehow, Draco though they just might. He turned and walked toward the door of the hospital wing, unsure what to answer. Somewhere deep down he thought it was possible that Tim's aunt was at the wedding. Then again it was also possible Tim was a crazy little git talking to paintings. Draco was confused, and despite Hermione's protests and what sounded like held back sobs, he kept walking. As he stepped through the door, kicking a stray sprig away from himself absently, he thought he heard a voice.

"You know you saw me."

Hermione was finally allowed breakfast in the Great Hall Saturday morning, although she was to return straight to the Hospital Wing when she was done. She sat now with her back to the masses of students, facing only Harry and the Slytherin table, hiding her still healing face behind a large ceramic jug of milk. The bandage patches that covered the still festering wounds felt like peeling skin, and she longed to tear them off. The wounds that had sealed were scarring up nicely, though she'd be stuck with them forever. Ron sat down beside Harry, carrying Harry's broomstick.

"You really are lucky Harry." Ron was still gushing over the stupid broom. It had been four years! Couldn't he just acknowledge it was a broom and move on with his life.

"Pass me those muffins would you Ron, and the cheese." Hermione had developed a liking for cheese and tomato on old English muffins lately. Madame Pomfrey had given it to her once. "So have you had a look for the woman in the painting yet?"

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. This was not going to be good. "Well, we looked Hermione, really we did." Ron twisted his face into a look of confusion and concern. "All we saw this morning was a whole heap of dancers scrambling into position."

"For some reason they refuse to sleep where they are and have to partition the canvas." Harry added, passing the cheese. "Except you and Malfoy. I think the painting you is missing a few brains."

"Are you sure it wasn't just some student you didn't know Hermione? It's possible that this year may just go as planned. I know it's rare, but it's possible."

Harry passed the muffins when it was clear Ron wasn't going to. Hermione added a slice of bacon to her newly acquired breakfast. "Ron, please, it's been, what, six months since Voldemort's gone and done pretty much anything. Hogwarts has become a living tribute to Fred and George and the House Elves are missing, this is clearly not as planned."

"I still think it's SPEW that's got the House Elves in a rut." Ron said, folding his arms roughly. He was eying her muffin; he wasn't going to get it. A dark haired Ravenclaw girl reached forward and took an apple from the Gryffindor pile. A brief 'excuse me' touched the edge of Hermione's consciousness.

"Ron, please, I am not going to say it again. I did not incite a revolt!" She was yelling before she could stop herself. She took a bite out of her breakfast. The cheese was just starting to melt.

"Well someone did!"

"Dobby said that they were trapped somewhere," Hermione retorted. "Obviously someone put a vanishing cabinet in the laundry or something." She took another bite. This argument was won.

"Who would do that? That stupid little Slytherin git? WOULD YOU PUT THAT BLOODY MUFFIN DOWN?" Ron was vying for attention. She didn't much care. There was movement from the Slytherin table and the odd snicker. One figure, however was not watching the Weasley uproar.

"Sorry, Hermione, I don't know what…"

"Shut up Ron, I'm thinking." Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy followed the Ravenclaw girl out of the hall with his eyes, a frown plastered on his face. He stood and walked out of the hall, his cronies still preoccupied with playacting a lover's tiff. Something clicked in Hermione's consciousness that seemed obvious all along. Something she should have worked out from the very beginning. She put the muffin in her mouth, stood up and made her way out of the hall. He followed the shadow of Draco around a corner, glancing through paintings as she went.

She wasn't very far from her intended target when she saw her. The redhead looked down at Hermione from a painted scene; none of the wizards painted within seemed to mind her presence. The girl gave a small smile and continued on in the direction Draco had taken. Hermione was in half a mind to follow; to be sure Draco was alright.

"No, Hermione, no, it's her fault you feel like this and you have to do something about it." Hermione held her own hand as if it could stop her moving. "Now think Hermione, where did you first see her? And what did you…" Hermione caught herself thinking aloud. She knew what she had to do- it had to work, didn't it? Hermione turned herself around and barrel toward the marble stairs. She clipped past Ron and Harry as they headed out toward the pitch for Quidditch. She vaguely heard them call after her but didn't really care. She had to get to the common room; she had to get rid of it somehow.

She mounted the stairs with all the grace of a drunk, constipated hippopotamus dancing in jelly, and slammed into a few students and the odd coat of arms on her way. She reached the fat lady, and with a huff recited the password. "_Amorum Terminum_. By Merlin I hope so." She said as she scrambled through the opening. Was this right? Was the painting forcing love on her and Draco Malfoy? Draco the complete git Malfoy? Was that magic possible? Hermione flopped her way out of the hole and lunged toward the currently finished painting. Lucy was still working on the second portion, the dresses and robes taking shape in all their painted glory. Hermione jumped onto the overstuffed chair beside the fire and tore at the painting on the wall. She flipped the frame in her hands and took the canvas from it, the fabric flexible in its un-stretched form beneath layers of paint. The occupants were squealing and demanding to be put down. She heard her own voice protesting that damage of property was against school rules. Lucy-the real one- was protesting loudest of all.

"Excuse me? What do you think you're doing?" Lucy abandoned her painting and came after Hermione. She paid no heed and headed toward the Gryffindor girls' bathroom. She threw open a cubicle door and with the hardest swing she could, threw the rolled up painting into the bowl of the toilet. She pulled the chain with a groan, suddenly noticing the stream of tears that poured down her face.

She was cold. Too cold, and the world was rushing by her in torrents of swirling water.

"Stop!" Draco called after the girl. He'd had enough of her, truly he had. He pulled his wand defiantly from his robes. He pointed it straight at her heart as she turned around. He swore he'd never do this to anyone but Potter and his band of merry imbeciles. He was about to break his promise.

"_Cruci…"_ he began. He was stopped short by the ringing, cackling, shrill and dull laughter of Selena. Her laugh was everything at once. It grated on him like a knife. "What's so funny? Not masochistic are you?"

"Of course not." Her smile was all too amused for his liking. It was a look he would have given and he knew what it meant. "More a sadist. But preferences aside, you can put your wand away, it won't help you."

"Who are you?" Draco kept his wand up and pointed at her chest. He really should have asked her this question a long time ago.

She laughed at him again.

"Would you stop that? You have the most annoying laugh since Millicent fekking Bulstrode."

"Interesting choice of middle name." Selena said through held back giggles.

Draco twisted his wand. His front wrist now pointed straight up, the pale white of it contrasting with the black of his robes and the dark wood of his wand. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"Which question might that be? Who am I? Why me? Why Hermione? What's the meaning of life? Why are those bloody every flavour beans still stocking shoe leather and belly button lint flavours but they never seem to get a good quality strawberry when you need one?"

Draco blinked. Only one person had ever complained about strawberry beans, mainly because only one person he knew of had mastered the boredom game of guess the bean.

"What's your relationship to Tim McCallum?" Draco asked, without knowing why. He was meant to say 'who are you'. Stupid things seemed to be attracted to him lately. He expected Crabbe and Goyle to round the corner.

"Uh-ah, now that wasn't one of the choices." Selena winked at him. "As for whom I am, I've already told you. For all anyone really cares what you say or think, I could be Dumbledore's mother and your burly friend- Crabbe is it? - well, I could be Crabbe's sex puppy for all anyone really cares."

Draco could feel a thought lower down from the part of his brain that held his morality, through the cobwebs of its disuse and into his mouth before the Boggart that was his self restraint could find its shape.

"Hermione would listen."

She laughed again, her head thrown back to reveal a necklace of a dragon's claw. "'Hermione would listen'. Let me tell you something, Draco. Hermione is chasing shadows. And you, you are chasing something that can never be caught or tamed. This school is fighting a losing battle, the third in a war meant for two. I like you, Mr. Malfoy, and I just want you to know when I next get a chance, you and I must have a little chat about a certain someone."

"Who?" Draco asked. She had begun to turn away. The sound of squeals and shrieks assaulted his mind. She turned back to him, a true grin on her face this time.

"Well, well, what's this? The sound of true chaos assaulting your feeble little head?" Selena said in a tone that was invariably like a mocking mother of an only child. The squealing stopped abruptly when a rush of cold hit him. He felt like he was emersed in water, something or someone wrapped around him with fear. There was water rushing all around him.

"What are you doing to me?" He yelled at Selena, who simply stood back and watched.

"It appears her little plan didn't work. You can't take yourself out of the universal order. Once you are in its power you're there forever. It just seems that balance is tilting a little more towards me these days." Selena turned her back again. "I think you should rug up, don't want to catch a chill now do you?"

Harry pushed Hermione onto his bed once again. "No, you're staying until you explain why Lucy is so pissed off at you. What did you do to her?"

They'd cleared out the boy's dormitory and had Ron stand watch at the door. The common room was not the place for a conversation like that. Harry had suspected that Hermione had been suffering some kind of Mimicker after shock. Then he'd done his homework. Overdone PMT was not a side effect of Mimickers. Uncontrollable need to eat anything and everything was definitely a symptom though. Hermione had already tried to eat his homework and not even realised it.

"I threw her painting into the toilet." Hermione mumbled. There was a strain in her voice that said she was about to cry. Harry hoped she didn't he couldn't stand when girls cried.

"You threw it in the toilet? Why on earth did you do that? You thought it'd taste better that way?"

Hermione looked up at him. She wasn't crying, but he was waiting to burst into flame from that look.

"Come on Hermione, tell us, please?" Ron's contribution to the interrogation left a lot to be desired. He was worried, Harry could see that, but then he'd been paranoid ever since the side effects started to show. It was odd really.

"I threw it in there because I thought it would make Laura leave."

"Hermione, there is no-one in the painting that shouldn't be. We've been through this. You're a bit too old and a lot too smart for an invisible friend, really."

Hermione stood up and attempted to leave again. "I knew you wouldn't listen! I've tried to explain to you what's happening! All the crazy things that have been happening, they're because of her. She's making things go crazy, and Tim McCallum brought her here! He must have used Lucy's painting to call some kind of magical creature; I haven't had time to look it up in the library but…"

"Hermione, listen to me, there is nothing there. All the crazy stuff is just McCallum playing pranks and things. Fred and George used to do it all the time."

"Harry, what first year is able to do that kind of transfiguration?"

Ron jumped in at this. "Face it, Hermione, you aren't the smartest student anymore, get over it. Being stupid isn't so bad. Harry and me have survived so far." Harry reminded himself to chalk it up for later. Ron had a very round about way of making people feel better- usually by making others feel worse.

"If you aren't going to listen to me I'll just have to find someone who will. I'm going to bed, I don't want to have to put up with you two any longer than I have to right now."

"You're going to have to put up with us. You're sleeping here tonight. If you go into the girls dorm Lucy will kill you. Do you want to wake up dead?"

Hermione sat down on Ron's bed and tossed a pillow onto the floor in the middle of the room. "You know Ron, you're right."

"I am?"

"Yes. You're surviving perfectly well being stupid. Good night." She threw a blanket from the bed onto the floor for Ron and drew the curtains around the bed. Harry smiled at the look on his friend's face.

"Was that a compliment?"

Harry laughed. "Ron, you're sleeping on the floor, what do you think?"

'

"You are so lucky these oils were sealed, Granger." Lucy's voice was venom. She was replacing the freshly stretched canvas onto the frame. The images of the dancers poked their tongues out and shouted some very ungainly abuse. Hermione felt lethargic and didn't feel much like putting up with the activities of two dimensional students, nor did she fell much like dealing with the three dimensional ones. The painting of Draco said something decidedly rude. Hermione gave a small inward cheer as the painting her shoved him into Millicent Bulstrode. The tousle seemed to take their attention off Hermione long enough for her to leave without the abuse of paintings. She made her way to the Great Hall. There wouldn't be so many people there, not this early. There were a few seventh years and the odd restless first year. It was nearly Halloween after all, and there were the usual preparations and pranks to plan. And for the seventh years, it meant the mock exams. Mock exams to revise six years of knowledge. It was not something anyone else ever looked forward to. Hermione thought it would be rather invigorating.

She reached the Great Hall to find the breakfast freshly sent up. She reached the table and grabbed the first thing she could find, a kind of apple dumpling thing. There were maybe four or five people in the hall, three of them Ravenclaws and two of them boys. Hermione sat down by a piece of parchment and a quill left by someone the night before. Dobby was obviously finding it hard keeping up with the cleaning. This was blank and slightly crumbled, and the quill was barely sharp anymore. Hermione looked up from the rumpled paper to the Slytherin table. Draco was sitting with his head in his hands, and he looked pale, paler than usual, it was sad really. Hermione tore a corner from the parchment and scribbled a quick message on it.

"_Wingardium Leviosa._" With the old swish-and-flick that had been drummed into them since first year, she sent the paper rising from her hand and sent it floating toward Draco. The paper drifted slowly to rest in front of him. It took him a moment to look at it and read it. He flipped it, and with something he picked up from the table- an overcooked something that had become charcoal, poor Dobby- he scrawled on the other side. The paper flew back in an impressive yet dangerous arc and landed in a milk jug in front of her.

_I have the flu, thank you Granger. Thanks to that stupid friend of yours._

Hermione frowned and read it again. One of her friends gave him the flu? How could that have happened? She wrote back on a new piece of paper _which one?_

The paper did the usual round, though Hermione saw fit to _accio_ the piece before the milk tasted like burnt sausage. _Selena_.

Hermione thought for a moment. Who was Selena? She had no friends called Selena. She remembered that Draco had mentioned something about a Selena when the Mimicker had attacked her, but only in passing. But still it was an excuse. If no-one else would listen to her theory about Laura, perhaps Draco would. She took the large piece of parchment and began to write, using some strawberry jam as ink. What little ink had been left on the quill wasn't doing much better than the jam. At least she could eat the evidence in this case. The paper flew toward Draco slowly, like a feather in the wind. Her view of him was obscured briefly by a dark haired Ravenclaw, but the message seemed to have been received and understood. Now all there was left to do was wait. Everything would be explained to Draco Malfoy in the room of requirement, at midnight.

Draco caught the large ball of crinkled parchment out of the air and pulled it open. The message was written in some very smudged strawberry jam, but was just understandable. _We need to talk, meet me outside Hagrid's hut at midnight._

"Ron, if she's stopped doing her Arithmancy homework she's not seeing someone else." Harry flicked a bitten vomit flavour every flavour bean into the fire. Harry had to have been over the same conversation with Ron once every five minutes; it was difficult coming up with some of the convoluted reasoning he had to.

"Oh yeah, what else could it mean?"

"She's channelling their spirit? Honestly Ron you're being paranoid."

"Am I really?"

"Yes, you are really." Harry lied. He didn't like lying to Ron, but in the end it was probably the best option. How do you tell your best friend that you think his girlfriend's off her nut? In fact, if Harry's observations were correct, no-one could hesitate in putting Hermione straight into St. Mungo's permanent residence ward between Lockhart and the Longbottoms.

"Maybe you're right, but how are you going to explain away the fact she snuck out tonight without telling Lavender of Parvati where she went?" Ron pointed the feather end of his quill at the girl's dormitories. The fire barely lit that far, and the stairs had the foreboding appearance of the road to an impending doom. The light gave away the truth- up there were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They were responsible for more break-ups and more unrequited broken hearts than every other student of Hogwarts combined. Except maybe Blaise Zabini, but those were just juicy rumours. Harry had spent half of his life interrupting whenever they talked to Ginny. It was a tiring business, but if they'd gotten to Ron there was no telling where it would lead. Though he had no idea Hermione was out.

"Don't you go listening to those two; they'll stir trouble as soon as look at you. They're just trying to open the way so they can have the Gryffindor Collection- only Ron, Harry and Neville to go." Harry couldn't help but giggle at his own little joke when Ron burst out laughing.

Ron dropped his quill onto their Defence against the Dark Arts homework. "Are you sure they haven't started on Ravenclaw? Greg's here an awful lot for just seeing his sister."

"Parvati goes over to Ravenclaw quite a lot too." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and stretched. It was past midnight and they hadn't done any homework at all. "Potions really is boring."

"Hermione should be here to help us." Ron, though having done no writing, dipped his quill in the ink for the fifteenth time. "At least that way we might get something done."

"Is that all Hermione is to you? Just a study buddy? If I'm right, Ron, I understand Hermione completely. You can't go around treating her like a computer; she's going to think you're using her. Look I'll see if I can find her, you just try and get your potions homework done." Harry closed his potions book and stood up. Ron was really starting to get on his nerves. He went upstairs to his dorm and collected the marauders map. He hadn't used it in a while. He opened the map carefully.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

Hermione paced up and down the Room Of Requirement. She had been waiting there and hour. Someone was and sure to find her here. A student and out of bed at one in the morning was never going to go down well. The room had made itself up well though. There was a very plush couch in the middle of the floor. A coffee table with two steaming hot coffee was set before it. There was even a plate of biscuits. Hermione could not bring herself to sit down. How could Draco just not come? He had promised. Not in so many words, but he had promised. This really wasn't like him, he may have been a mangy git, but he kept his word.

"This is getting ridiculous, why am I even waiting for him?" Hermione flopped down on the couch. She would give him ten more minutes; otherwise she was going back to bed. If no one was going to listen to her she would do it herself.

What the hell did she think she was playing at? For that matter what did he think he was playing at? Why was he out here? Why in the name of Merlin's beard was he following the orders of a Mudblood? He had to be losing his mind. Draco Malfoy stood outside Hagrid's hut in the cold. Granger's note had said to be there at midnight. It was now one in the morning and there was no Granger. Something had to be done and now. Draco pulled his cloak around him and headed back toward Hogwarts. He would find Granger if he had to go to Gryffindor Tower himself. He was not to be made a fool of. He would find Hermione Granger, and he would take her by the hair, and throw her in the lake.

Why would anyone want to meet out here anyway? If he got detention Granger would pay. There was no doubt about that, and what's more he'd have fun making her pay. Now all he had to do was get past Mrs. Norris.

Ten past one, now she was getting annoyed. He had already drank both coffees, and started on the biscuits. "Damnit, I wish I knew where he was!" Hermione was pacing again. She turned abruptly began to pace in the other direction. She paced straight into Harry Potter. He had come out of nowhere, the Marauders Map in his hand. He looked almost as stunned as Hermione was.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Hermione attempted to hide the couch, but Harry was not that stupid. She would have gotten away with it if it were Ron. She was well and truly busted.

"Is this the Room Of Requirement?" Harry frowned at her, she hated how easily he could get to her sometimes. "Tell me what you're doing here, and I want the truth."

Hermione swallowed hard. The truth was never ever going to get past him. "I'm meeting someone. It's about homework."

"Homework? Come on Hermione, it is one in the morning. Even you aren't that obsessive. I doubt anyone else even comes close." Harry was still holding the Marauders Map. That would be just what she needed. That also explained why Harry was here. But that was ridiculous- no one could apparated within Hogwarts. She was really needed to see Draco. This however would not go down very well with Harry. She would have to get rid of him.

"Harry can I borrow the map for a minute?"

"What do you need it for?"

"To see if the person I'm waiting for is coming."

"Who are you waiting for? I'll see if they're coming."

Hermione went to snatch the map. Harry was too quick for her. "Harry please I can't tell you just give me the map." The look on Harry's face scared Hermione more than dragons and trolls ever could. She couldn't help but shrink back on herself.

"Hermione are you cheating on Ron?"

That was unexpected.

"No! Of course not! I would never do that. I'm just waiting for someone that's all. Why is it any of your business?" Hermione knew she sounded panicked. She also knew she had been caught.

"I'm waiting for Draco."

"Malfoy?"

"Do you know any other Dracos?"

The map was discarded as Harry crossed the room. The rage in his eyes had only previously been reserved for Lord Voldemort. Hermione had the sudden urge to run. Run and never turn back. She never thought she'd be scared of her best friend.

Ah well, there was a first time for everything.

"You're cheating on Ron with Draco fucking Malfoy?"

"I told you, Harry, I'm not cheating on Ron."

"What do you call it, Hermione? You're slipping out in the middle of the night to see Draco Malfoy, you barely speak to Ron and me, and now you're in a panic to be found out. Honestly Hermione, did you think we were thick or something? Did you think that we wouldn't notice? A Ravenclaw girl told us you were writing notes to him at breakfast."

"The note was asking him to come here."

"Well he's obviously not here. But I am and I want an explanation." Harry's eyes had become bright electric green. Of all the expressions of Harry Potter this indicated the worst. A bomb was about to go off, and Hermione could do nothing to stop it. She did the only thing she could do. Explode right back.

"My explanation? Here's my explanation. You never listen to me, either of you. All you ever needed me for was homework. I was never a person to you. Poor Hermione, your own special library. Well guess what, I'm here to find someone who will listen to me." Harry's expression didn't change. He still looked as if he'd caught her having sex with the entire Slytherin Quidditch team. This was the last straw. "All right Harry, you want the truth? I'm screwing Malfoy's brains out. In fact I'm carrying his love child. So you can go back and tell Ron that his suspicions were correct. Now get out of my way." Hermione pushed past Harry roughly. She found the door and went into the corridor. A she stumbled in a huff; she faintly heard Harry's voice.

"Your love is waiting for you at Gryffindor Tower."

"Come on give me the password I would find it eventually." Draco had been standing in front of his painting what felt like hours.

"You are definitely not in Gryffindor. You are not allowed in this tower. Go back to your dorm or I will inform the headmaster." The portrait of the fat lady was almost as annoying as the one on the Slytherin door.

"I only want to speak to Granger. I'll only be a minute."

"My answer is no, and that's final." The painting stomped her foot defiantly. "And don't let me see you back here again."

Draco shot the painting one more rude gesture. "At least give someone this message to give to Granger: the meeting has been changed to by the lake at one thirty. If she is not there I will tell the headmaster that she was out of bed. And remind her of the Mimicker for good measure." He turned and began to way to make his way down the stairs. This would be a long night.

Hermione reached portrait of the fat lady faster than she ever thought possible. She didn't quite understand why she felt so desperate to get there. Why, of all people, she was desperate to see Malfoy. It was Malfoy for Merlin's sake. Harry wouldn't be far behind her. Now here she stood, in front of the Gryffindor painting, waiting for someone who last year she quite happily would have hexed to oblivion. And what's more she thought she knew why. Draco wasn't there like Harry said; maybe he never had been there. Maybe Harry was just teasing her. Just getting it back for being angry at him. Well this was the last straw. I was about time that they treated her like a human being, not just a walking notebook.

"Miss Granger?" The portrait said. The fat lady sounded concerned. Hermione tried to her best to hide her annoyance as she looked straight at the fat lady. She looked worried.

"_Amorum Terminum," _Hermione said defiantly. No painting was getting any gossip out of her.

"In a minute, in a minute. There's a message for you. He said the meeting has been changed. By the lake at one thirty."

Draco had been here? But why wasn't he where they arranged to meet? But he would be by the lake. And that is where she would go. Without even a thank you she turned and ran back down the stairs. Down to the lake. If she ran she might make it before he left. Then they could talk all this out. They could try and work out just what was going on. Then everything would be alright. Draco would listen to her. Draco would understand.

She charged through the courtyard she normally took to the Quidditch pitch. From there she could get to the lake quicker. Then maybe, just maybe, there would be an end to all this. It was cold out that she barely noticed. If it weren't for the moon she would not have been able to see a thing. Even now, it cast an eerie glow over the surface of lake in the distance. A figure stood on the shore. Draco had been smarter than her, he had brought a cloak. He looked like a discarded chess piece on the shimmering fabric of the landscape. The only pawn left in the game when no one really knew the rules. Or was she a pawn too? In the end it didn't really matter. As long as this meeting went well.

"I suppose you think it's funny don't you? Telling me to meet you and never turning up. Very mature. So very unlike you. In fact, I would almost think someone was playing a game with us. Would you agree?" She was taken aback by his words. Then a sudden flood of relief hit her like a wave. _He does understand!_

"You wouldn't believe how relieved I am to hear you say that." Hermione was close to frantic when she reached him. The relief was overwhelming. "Didn't you get my note about the Room of Requirement?"

"Room of Requirement? The note said Hagrid's hut." Draco hadn't yet turned to face her. In fact he hadn't moved. Just kept staring out over the water. His hood was up so she couldn't see his face. It was definitely him though. She was so sure she could taste it. The thought made her shiver. It didn't feel right for her to know him just by a _feeling_. To be able to sense Draco Malfoy was like being able to sense a bad mark coming in potions, it was inevitable, and you were never quite ready for it. They went on in silence for several minutes.

"What do you think is going on?" She finally said, staring out into the moonlit expanse of water herself.

"I'm not quite sure, Hermione, but whatever it is, it's making it awful hard to stand here without touching you."

Somehow, that's exactly what she wanted to hear.


End file.
